Noctem Oritur
by Mattwho81
Summary: The Storm Heralds stand upon the brink as their homeworld comes under a deadly attack, outnumbered and outgunned the handful of Space Marines struggle to survive the horror that falls upon them. This story is a sequel to my previous story Vacuus Cymba.
1. Chapter 1

**Noctem Oritur: Chapter 1**

 _The near future_

From high above the world of Lujan II was a shining sapphire on the velvet backdrop of space, startlingly bright and blue. The sunward hemisphere was nearly bereft of cloud cover allowing the few stunted continents and millions of tiny volcanic islands to be seen with eye watering detail.

Unlike most worlds Lujan II boasted two rings; the first was made of pure meteorological activity that banded the planet along its terminus between day and night. Made up of tempests, gales, cyclone and hurricanes they travelled at exactly the same rate as the planet's slow rotation, creating a phenomenon at each dawn and dusk known to the native inhabitants as the Emperor's Storm.

The second ring was in orbit of the world and was made up of plasteel and ceramite; it was comprised of dockyards and repair bays, orbital defence stations and space elevators. On any given day countless ships would move between the orbital assemblies, cargo barges, passenger liners or smugglers and even a few system defence boats though these were few and far between.

Some days the clouds of drifting metal would part to allow vessels of a completely different order to pass, brutal and ugly as sin they were Astartes Strike Cruisers. They would perform live-fire training exercises over their homeworld and other pilots would stay far away, knowing full well how little patience the Space Marines had for interlopers in their affairs.

Despite the daily bustle of activity and wide variety of ships present they were always vastly outnumbered by the largest group of all: Pilgrim ships. Lujan II was a vital port on the long trail between Terra and Ophellia VII and at any given time thousands of pilgrim ships would be serviced, their wounds tended and their stores replenished, for a price of course.

The halos of orbital stations were Lujan II's chief source of prosperity, the entire planet given over to servicing the passing ships and filling their holds with the rich bounty of the world's vast oceans. Thus the ring of drifting orbitals was their greatest endeavour, the focus of all planetary industries as the people poured their efforts into it.

It was more than the work of a hundred generations; it was a testament to mankind's drive to conquer the void itself. It was man's defiance against the cruelty of the universe writ large; it was human pride brought to life.

It was burning.

In the harsh sunlight ships, shuttles and stations were exploding in sequence, torn apart as they sought to flee, spilling their contents and crew into the pitiless vacuum of space. Energy blasts and shells were crashing through their ranks, obliterating all as waves of doomfire bombers pounced upon the stunned defenders. Everywhere vessels were being violated by the weapons fire, their spines and engines shattered into metal kindling as officers and crew screamed over the vox in terror.

Panic spread like wildfire as ships tried to light their reactors and escape, some pilgrim ships even leaving their docks without first disconnecting their umbilical ties and so ripping open their berths to kill hundreds of workers. Two pilgrim ships tried to flee through the same point in space and managed to ram into each other, their prows smashing together and fusing into one mass of metal to create a strange two tailed comet. Their drives continued to run, pushing the conjoined pair into a decaying orbit and they began to burn as they touched the atmosphere in a death spiral.

The cause of these calamities was a ship, just one ship all alone but what a ship.

An Imperial battleship could be described using terms like vast and gargantuan but this vessel defied all such hollow epithets, it was as far beyond those mighty vessels as they were beyond a simple cruiser. It was a dinosaur in an age of rodents and it eclipsed the sun itself with its sheer bulk for it was built to a size and power of which the shipwrights of this lesser age could not even dream. The monster was simply beyond anything the locals had ever seen, a power that should not exist and nothing could stand against it but that was not the worst thing.

The worst thing was that it had simply appeared from nowhere, one second the orbital vectors had been clear then a brief distortion had been all the announcement anyone got before it shimmered into existence and started firing. Few in the Imperium had even heard of Reflex Shields and none of those had ever seen them in actual life, if the Raven Guard still held those arcane secrets then they were doing a very good job at keeping that fact to themselves.

As the SDF panicked a few very senior officers with high enough clearance were able to query the identity of the attacker but the reports coming back made no sense. The logic engines were telling them the invader was a myth, a ghost from a fable told in the alcoves of naval bars and around cloistered banquets to frighten younger men.

It was a dark legend about a Drop Site Massacre so tragic it had scarred the Imperium to this very day. This ship featured prominently in those sagas and it was one whose tragic death yet haunted the Imperium. When they heard the name of the ship being reported the officers screamed in denial calling it a trick and an insult to the mythic XIXth Legion flagship. They bellowed that this invader was not the Shadow of the Emperor, it could not be.

As the defenders wasted precious time repeating queries and challenging orders the battleship was rampaging among the defender's lines laying waste to all it saw. As panic swept before it like a bow wave the Shadow of the Emperor cruised leisurely along the orbital lanes, not pushing its engines at all, it didn't need to.

Lance turrets the size of transport ships discharged searing blasts into the void, gutting everything they touched. Even ships that thought they were safely out of range were given cruel surprises as the devastating columns of energy tore through their void shields and gored them stem to stern. Even those who fled to lower orbits, seeking to hide in the atmosphere, were not safe for they were sought out by wave upon wave of doomfire bombers that spilled from the Shadow's echoing launch bays in a ceaseless tide.

The mighty vessel did not go unchallenged though, on the surface a handful of defensive torpedoes roared out of their silos and began the long slog into orbit in an attempt to wound the attacker. The Shadow paused in its rampage for a minute, disgorging a wave of Swiftdeath fighters which scrambled to meet the attack and scattered the torpedoes with ease.

While the Shadow was distracted a lone defence station spun on its axis bringing its guns to bear but the monster didn't even react, a flash of light heralded the first shot then another and another and another as the platform unleashed its power. The shells bored through the vacuum to impact directly on the titan's hull, shields curiously absent, blowing out armour and venting compartments. The attack was well aimed, the platform's crew showing either incredible bravery or desperation as they threw absolutely everything they had towards the intruder and smote it with all the righteous fury of a lightning bolt.

It didn't matter.

The Glorianna class had been designed during Great Crusade and was intended to lead an entire Legion to war, bringing extermination to whole civilisations of Xenos. The Shadow simply shrugged off the attack, seeming almost contemptuous as it disregarded the pin pricks to its hull; in return it unleashed a barrage from its flank weapon batteries that effortlessly reduced the station to burning wreckage.

Yet the distraction had not been in vain, from behind the twisted pile of scrap arose a genuine threat at last: a trio of Astartes Strike Cruisers moving fast and armed to the teeth. They roared forwards with broadside guns and bombardment canons gleaming in the sunlight, they pushed their engines hard for they knew if they could fire before the monster could raise its shields they had a chance of inflicting real damage at last.

They were cruelly disappointed, before they could even enter range the Shadow's bow erupted with spears of lance fire, torrents of pure destruction streaming out from its twin prows. The beams caught a strike cruiser dead on, punching through its void shields like they weren't even there and ripping deeply within to wreck carnage. The cruiser listed over as it bled out from a hundred rents but then the titan's dorsal lances swung about and unleashed a second volley to finish the job.

As the hulk spiralled into a death roll the other cruisers raced forwards, they were determined to press the attack but the monstrosity was not yet done. From its launch bays emerged clouds of doomfire bombers, pouncing to meet the challengers with plasma torpedoes loaded and ready. The cruisers spat turret fire into the void and managed to swat a handful down but in doing so revealed their hidden weakness, they were not flying Thunderhawks: their battle companies were absent.

The delta winged attack craft dived upon the pair of embattled cruisers like birds of prey and let fly, streaks of missile contrails leaping from their wings and falling upon the vessels as their outlines disappeared in starbursts of blazing plasma. For long seconds nothing could be seen but then one of the cruisers plunged out of the fireball as a blazing inferno with its spine twisted and broken.

The last strike cruiser rose out of the conflagration with flames trailing down its flanks, its drives flaring as it prepared to ram itself into the intruder as one last gesture of defiance but before it could close the situation changed. From out of the pitiless depths of deep space came the second wave of the attack, a pair of fresh Chaos cruisers and half a dozen escort frigates leading dozens of ramshackle transports into orbit.

The battle was utterly lost and it seemed the Strike Cruiser deemed discretion the better part of valour as it heaved away from the battle and ran out its engines. With fresh waves of dart like bombers still nipping at its heels it fled for the sanctuary of the deep void, already broadcasting Astropathic distress calls out into the dark.

The Chaos fleet left their fleeing foe to the attack craft and instead swung around the shattered wreckage that had once been a supposedly impregnable line of defence. With the mighty Shadow of the Emperor looking on like a mother hen the cruisers began targeting the ground based missile silos as the transports opened their holds to disgorge wave upon wave of shuttles, drop pods and gunships. They plunged into the atmosphere leaving blazing contrails of re-entry behind them as they fell upon the helpless world and there was no way to avoid the truth that the invasion of Lujan II had begun.


	2. Chapter 2

**Noctem Oritur: Chapter 2**

 _The Recent Past_

The council chamber was spacious and well lit with tall stained glass windows shining historical victories onto beautiful marble walls, graceful columns rose to the gilded ceiling which ascended into an arched dome that was painted in glorious frescos of Him on Terra. Set underneath the centre of the dome were a dozen chairs positioned in a semi-circle and sitting in those chairs were the Masters of the Storm Heralds Chapter. Half the chairs were empty for there was no peace among the stars and the might of the Space Marines was constantly in demand, whether by company or by squad there was no time that the majority of the brotherhood was not away fighting.

Standing before the assembled worthies was a lone space marine, his name was Toran and he stood in a tunic that was plain and humble compared to the robes of office worn by the Masters. He had just returned after being rescued from a year adrift in the void, now he was making a report on the terrible events that had led to that state of affairs.

He stood proudly addressing Chapter Master Gorgall himself, he was a surprisingly gaunt individual, lean and spare with nothing wasted at all about him. He was sitting silently listening to the report until eventually he sighed, "So, First Captain Athead is truly dead."

Toran nodded sadly and said, "He died battling to his last breath against the Tyranid menace."

Across from Gorgall another voice spoke up, it was Chief Apothecary Lessall and he sounded displeased as he said, "Yet somehow he passed the Sword of Thiel onto you."

Gorgall's eyebrow twitched at the interruption, while he was the Lord and Master of the Storm Heralds, his policies of moderation and cooperation with the wider Imperium were unpopular and none were louder in their criticism than Lessall. Their conflict was growing into a full blown power struggle, dividing the Chapter between those who cleaved to the High Lords and secularism or those who worshipped the Emperor directly and wished to break free of Terra's stifling rule.

Gorgall stated, "The blade was passed on in combat as it has been for millennia, the tradition cannot be rebuked nor the burden it bestows."

"Except that he is no honoured Captain" growled Lessall as he glared at Toran.

"You would prefer it was lost in the void?" queried Gorgall.

Toran took a moment during the argument to look around the meeting hall at the other Masters present, most of the Captains were absent in pursuit of their duties. However the chair of Ninth company was filled by the patrician form of Captain Phalros, who was an ardent supporter of Gorgall. Across from him sat third captain Dassa, a brutal pugilist who was firmly in Lessall's camp.

The Reclusiarch was also absent on a distant mission so spiritual council was being provided by Chaplain Wrethan, he supported Lessall politically but he also made the mistake of thinking Toran was his protégé. Meanwhile the Forgemaster was incapable of leaving his sacred communion with the Fortress Monastery's machine spirit and so had sent an equerry in the form of Techmarine Hevostan.

The final member of the council was Chief Librarian Echeb whose face was haunted by horrors no other man could have witnessed and stayed sane. Nobody knew where the Librarians sat in this power struggle and everybody was content to leave it that way, absolutely nobody wanted to risk bringing the madness of the Warp into this dispute.

Toran had previously had little interaction with the Chapter's Librarians and his spine was feeling an unaccustomed shiver just being in the same room as one. Sanctioned or not Toran was determined to spend as little time in the presence of a Psyker as possible.

His attention was dragged back as Lessall growled, "Many things about his report are unorthodox, he claims the Genestealers not only infiltrated a ship but operated it and used it to blow up a frigate, that is not how genestealers behave."

Toran remained calm and repeated the facts, "The Genestealers were but advanced scouts for a Tyranid splinter fleet, they were operating under the direction of a Hive Tyrant and thus the Hive Mind itself."

"A Hive Tyrant?" Dassa scoffed, "They do not travel so far from the Hive Fleets."

Toran affirmed, "It was there, we understood it intended to spread the Shadow in the Warp ahead of the advance of the main fleets, disrupting Imperial communications and travel." Lessall spoke up saying, "You speak as if these beasts are capable of planning and abstract thought, I find this entire report to be of dubious veracity."

Hevostan spoke for the first time saying, "I filed the evidence myself, the reports are accurate." That put a stop to the argument as nobody wanted to offend the order of Techmarines, in the in quiet Gorgall spoke up saying, "We have forwarded your report onto Terra and received a response."

Now Echeb sat forwards, he steepled his fingers and said, "Terra has received our communique but was disinclined to believe us because of our recent issues yet the escalating attacks of the Tyranid fleets has convinced them that the threat is genuine. An inquisitor named Kryptman has designated this new fleet 'Leviathan'."

At this point Wrethan sat forwards and said, "What of Macragge?"

Echeb answered, "The Ultramarines are still rebuilding after the great victory at Ichar IV, but Marneus Clagar has pledged to send one company to Tarsis Ultra and intercept this Leviathan."

"One company?!" uttered Phalros in surprise, "That will not suffice ."

Dassa seemed displeased to be agreeing with his rival but still said, "No it will not, we must stand with them."

Lessall growled, "Why should we care what the Ultramarines do; they have never stood with us and they spit upon our beliefs."

Phalros barked, "This goes beyond creeds and doctrines, the Tyranids are a threat to all humanity. We must stand united if we are to have any chance of victory."

Gorgall rubbed his chin and said, "He is right but our forces are widely deployed, it will take significant time to recall them."

Dassa growled, "Then send third company ahead in a Strike Cruiser, fighting the Tyranids on the ground is a waste anyway, we would be better advised to strike at them in space where they cannot replenish their biomass."

"We should be seeking allies" interjected Phalros, "The Mortifactors Chapter ranges near to Tarsis Ultra, we could petition them for aid."

Toran stiffened as he heard the master's plans and it did not go unnoticed, Gorgall saw him and held up one hand saying, "It seems our brother has something else to add."

"Him?" sneered Lessall, "He has no place to speak here."

Wrethan however stood up for his protégé saying, "He bears the Sword of Thiel, tradition allows him to speak among the Masters."

Toran ignored the furious glare Lessall was giving him and said, "With respect my lords we should not ignore the threat of the splinter fleets, we have not considered the locations of their attacks."

Gorgall frowned but he waved Echeb to activate a hololith, the image sprang into being over their heads showing the entire Milky Way galaxy. A golden jewel depicted the location of Terra and a deliberately lesser one showed the location of Lujan II right on the border between Segmentums Solar and Tempestus.

Toran nodded in thanks and said, "Now if you would overlay the known Warp Routes."

Echeb scowled and pressed a rune on his chair as he said, "The Immaterium is notoriously fickle and unreliable but as best we understand these are the currently stable paths."

The map became covered in multi coloured hues and strings of colour, they twisted about each other and even to those used to dealing with such things it resembled a pit of snakes. Toran himself barely grasped what he was seeing but continued saying, "Now add the locations of splinter fleet attacks over the last year."

Echeb pressed one last rune and a series of black dots appeared, each surrounded by a hazy stain representing the Shadow of the Hive Mind. The assembled Masters practically leapt out of their seats as the image of the galaxy reformatted before them, the pattern obvious to all now.

Phalros was the first to overcome his shock to declare, "The splinter fleets, they have hit every Warp Nexus between Segmentum's Solar and Tempestus, they are trying to cut off the southern third of the galaxy!"

"How did we not see this before?" asked Wrethan aghast.

"We underestimated the Xeno's intelligence" said Gorgall, "We assumed they were mindless beasts and the attacks random."

Echeb rubbed his chin and said, "This explains much, over the last solar year the amount of shipping passing through the St Karyl Trail has increased exponentially, vessels are going thousands of light years out of their way to traverse this Warp Route. Men and materials from as far away as Gryphonne IV and Bakka are passing through in ever increasing numbers."

Hevostan sat forwards and said, "Not for long, the recovered logs showed another splinter headed for the nearby world of Angle's Redoubt, we have only thwarted their advanced scouts not the fleet itself."

Phalros said "This is intolerable; we are now guarding the only viable Warp Route to and from the galactic south. If Angle's Redoubt falls under the Shadow of the Hive Mind then the Imperium will be cut in two, there will be nothing left to stop Hive Fleet Leviathan."

"Then our course is clear" declared Gorgall, "We cannot send our forces to fight with the Ultramarines at Tarsis Ultra when there is an enemy right at our backs. We will redeploy the entire chapter immediately to intercept this splinter fleet before it can reach Angle's Redoubt."

"What about our companies already deployed?" growled Lessall.

Gorgall replied, "Send word that they must end their campaigns with utmost alacrity and I want both our battlebarges recalled immediately, the Thunderlord and the Light of Terra will be the tip of the spear as we attack the Xeno. Squads on individual assignments must return as best they are able but I cannot wait too long, soon i will gather every brother who can be spared and depart."

"You intend to lead this strike yourself?" asked Captain Dassa in surprise, "Then who will guard the Fortress Monastery?"

Gorgall replied, "You shall remain with third Company to safeguard our home."

Dassa looked infuriated by the response and opened his mouth to speak but Gorgall cut him off saying, "The Fortress Monastery cannot be unguarded and your Company has just returned from raiding Xeno enclaves in the Herculean deeps. You alone will remain here with the bulk of 10th Company; this is no fight for neophytes."

Dassa looked outraged yet could not dispute an order from his Chapter Master but Lessall was different matter as he growled, "This decision will cost the Chapter dear."

Gorgall was firm and unyielding as he said, "Less than doing nothing would, now you all have your duties, this council is adjourned."

With those words the Masters arose and bowed to their lord then marched to war but before Toran could leave the hall he was halted as Gorgall called, "Brother Toran, do not stray far, you will attend me in my chambers this evening and I shall give you further instructions as to the burden you grasped when you picked up that sword."


	3. Chapter 3

**Noctem Oritur: Chapter3**

 _The Recent Past_

In the centre of the Fortress Monastery there was a lonely minaret, thin and oddly delicate amongst the sturdy architecture surrounding it. It held the Chapter Master's personal abode as well as any number of diplomatic quarters and waiting galleries. Standing in one of those galleries was brother Toran who was awaiting the Master's summons, though whether he was in for praise or condemnation he did not yet know. He was dressed in a plain tunic that revealed the many scars on his limbs and was leaning upon a long armour glass wall looking out.

From here he could see the vast Fortress Monastery stretching away before him; it descended away from his position in a series of stepped ziggurats and donjons. The Storm Herald's home was built on a lonely volcanic island, hundreds of miles from its nearest neighbour and was surrounded by ocean on all sides. The island was about forty miles end to end and the fortress covered every inch of it, creating an inverted iceberg rising out from the ocean. It was surrounded by layers upon layer of defences: guns, missiles, aquatic mines and artificial shallows that kept curious natives far, far away.

From where he was standing Toran see all the way over the island to the startlingly blue ocean which was shimmering in the hot sunlight. Yet on the horizon was the merest smudge of cloud, the first hints of the oncoming Emperor's Storm and he knew far below serfs would already be preparing the storm shutters and wave baffles. On a planet where tempests came as regularly as clockwork everything was designed to be either storm proof, easily stowed away or buried underground.

Toran's augmetic eye zoomed in on a crowd of serfs, labouring over a Thunderhawk bay, checking the shutters were ready to be secured. They were surrounded on all sides by the mighty edifices of the Fortress monastery, its void shield generators and defence lasers soaring overhead but that did not make it ugly. Five millennia of endeavour had created a work of art, frescos and architectural flourishes turning functional bridges into ornate arches and brutal towers into spires to rival any cathedral. That was not all; among the sweeping buildings were beautiful parks, pocket forests, rivers and grasslands. Yet these were not useless ornaments for they doubled as training grounds the aspirants used to experience a variety of warzones. Toran knew for a fact there was also a desert environment, a lunar landscape and a perfect recreation of a snowy mountain slope elsewhere.

Toran spied a party of scouts running drills in a park, his augmetic eye zoomed in and he could see they were practicing rapid river crossings with ropes and dinghies whilst a crippled training instructor, who was mostly augmetic, bellowed instructions at them. Meanwhile another group of scouts were firing bolters over their heads, all Astartes exercises were live fire of course, there was no point in doing anything less.

Toran sighed in remembrance of simpler days but was brought up short by the stomping of armoured boots behind him. He turned around and saw an Honour Guard entering the gallery, his Artificer armour gilded to a remarkable degree and his face plate wrought into soaring eagle's wings. The lauded hero wasted not a moment on small talk but said, "The Chapter Master will see you now."

Toran followed the veteran warrior to one of the minaret's many meeting rooms and inside he found a plain and functional room filled with a large circular table. Around that table were three marines, conversing and drinking from a ewer of wine, the first was Chapter Master Gorgall who was sitting in a deep blue robe that made his gaunt frame seem almost skeletal. The second man was Captain Phalros whose patrician features looked eerily appropriate as he sipped his wine, almost like a venerable statesman in his element. The third man was an old friend and his name was Nimodes, he was a Scout Sergeant of tenth Company and had been training aspirants longer than Toran had been alive. Three men of completely different ranks and temperaments yet united in their desire to put a stop to the practice of Emperor Worship in the Chapter.

Toran marched up to them and stood ram rod straight as he made the sign of the Aquilla, Gorgall glanced up and said, "At ease, this is an informal meeting, you may take a seat." Toran hesitated to be sitting with the lord of the Chapter but Nimodes gave him a nod and he pulled out a chair to be seated.

Gorgall waited for him to sit then said, "We have just been discussing what to do with this conundrum you have set before us."

Toran realised he was expected to reply and said, "The Tyranid threat was coming whether we wished it or not, now at least we have a little warning."

Nimodes gave a wry grin and said, "Still not too quick on the uptake are you, we were referring to the Sword of Thiel. What in the name of sanity were you thinking when you picked it up?"

Toran was taken aback by the question and blurted, "There were not a lot of other options at the time."

Phalros shook his head, "Nobody is saying you shouldn't have taken it but understand that blade has a legacy stretching all the way back to the Primarch himself. It has never been held by less than a Captain, not counting servitor caretakers of course, the wielder is held to be the exemplar of the entire Chapter. Everybody will be watching you now, expecting you to conform to their ideals of the perfect warrior, you will find yourself making many friends and even more enemies within our ranks."

Toran looked at his hands as he said, "I have already seen the way the brothers look at me, half seem to regard me as some epic hero straight from legend, the rest as something they scraped off their boots. I have been speaking to the Chaplains about the traditions, looking for some way to pass on the burden, some loophole to let me give up the sword."

Nimodes interrupted to say, "Let me guess, they answered 'NO'."

"Emphatically and at great length" replied Toran, "It seems I am stuck with the blasted thing, I am only glad I can keep it in a reliquary when it is not needed for ceremonies, I cannot tolerate the looks I get when I walk about the Fortress Monastery with it."

"This presents us with a problem" said Gorgall, "That blade is traditionally held by a Captain, how can any officer can give him orders if we put him back in a line Company?"

Nimodes answered, "The post of First Captain is vacant, once the period of mourning has passed one of the Captains must be elevated. Then there will be a Company in need of a Captain."

Gorgall swept his hand laterally saying, "He is far too junior and inexperienced for such a role, maybe in fifty years' time but not now."

Nimodes sipped from his glass nonchalantly saying, "Make him one of your Honour Guard then."

Toran gulped at that idea, the Honour Guards were the finest warriors of the Chapter but by tradition were required to give up their name and identities when they donned the eagle masks, he would never be allowed to speak as himself again. He was saved from the dismal fate as Phalros declared, "Honestly he is not really good enough a swordsman to qualify."

Toran didn't know whether to be pleased by escaping this fate or irritated by the dismissal of his skills but Gorgall was continuing to say, "This is a most vexing issue, we cannot be seen to be favouring him but there is no position that fits, I am almost tempted to send him off to fulfil our obligations to the Navigator houses…"

Phalros objected, "That would raise too many questions with our opponents in the Apothecaries and Chaplains."

Toran was getting irritated by the way everybody was talking about him like he was not there and said, "Am I being punished?"

Everybody blinked at the interruption until Phalros said, "No… but the matter is most challenging."

"All I ask is to serve" said Toran.

"That is most laudable but there are wider issues at stake" said Gorgall reluctantly then he sighed, "Your Terminator Squad is currently lacking a Sergeant, I will appoint you to the post until we can resolve these matters."

Nimodes changed the subject saying, "Speaking of Terminators have you been making any progress in finding brothers opposed to the Emperor Worship?"

Toran said, "Brother Priyar would be most receptive, the rest of First Company speaks the words but true faith is lacking, there may be more if they are approached right."

"That is a start" said Phalros, "Lessall and his supporters gain ground every day; if it were not for the Tyranids we would already be fighting a new Badab War."

Toran looked at him startled as Phalros said, "Terra is mobilising vast armies to stop the Hive Fleets, we are a low priority in comparison."

Now it was Nimodes who sounded surprised and said, "You are saying the Imperium thinks it is not worth picking a fight with a bunch of nobodies?"

Phalros replied frankly, "Not with the Tyranids devouring whole worlds."

"This reprieve grants us an opportunity, a chance to unite the Chapter against one single foe," said Gorgall, "We shall prove to the brothers that we stronger when we stand with our Imperial allies and that preaching is just a distraction from our true duties."

"We stand ready to serve" said Toran proudly but he was bitterly disappointed when Gorgall replied, "No you shall remain here with your squad."

Toran opened his mouth to protest but Gorgall cut him off, firmly reminding all that he was still the Chapter Master, "Your squad is a man down and you need time to settle into command, selecting a replacement will be a lengthy process. You and Nimodes will remain here to shepherd the Chapter and keep the Emperor Worshippers in check while I am absent. Now Phalros and I have strategies to discuss, both of you go tend to your duties…"

Toran and Nimodes stood up and bowed then turned and left, they marched out past the waiting Honour Guard and began walking towards the tower's grav-elevators. As they walked Nimodes looked at Toran and said, "You are disappointed aren't you?"

Toran could not deny it and replied, "I have experience fighting the Tyranid foe, I should be there when the Chapter takes the fight to them."

Nimodes shook his head and said, "The Chapter needs you right here, with our entire force gone the Fortress Monastery will be emptier than it has been in centuries. If the planned pre-emptive strike goes ill and the Tyranids reach us then our entire defence will rest upon third company, one Terminator squad and the scout novices."

"You think the battle will go poorly?" asked Toran as they reached the grav elevator.

"I think the Chapter is in greater danger than ever before in its history" replied Nimodes, "And that is not all."

Toran looked at him askance and as they stepped onto a passing grav-plate the scout sergeant said, "If the strike force is lost then that makes Captain Dassa the new Chapter Master, a known Emperor Worshipper and secessionist. Gorgall trusts us to keep him checked; I do not exaggerate when I say it may fall to us to preserve the future of the Chapter."

With those words the pair proceeded down the tower, neither having any idea how prophetic Nimodes' words would prove nor how wrong they were about the direction the danger would come from.


	4. Chapter 4

**Noctem Oritur: Chapter 4**

 _Now_

Towering waves were breaking upon the walls of the Fortress monastery in a relentless drumbeat, each one crashing into the breakers with a thunderous roar and dashing salt spray high into the air. Billowing thunderheads spat bolts of lightning over and over again at plascrete edifices but each was caught by cunningly placed lightning rods and channelled far below to earth in the bedrock. Meanwhile gale force winds were tearing across the reinforced buildings, each one worn smooth and rounded from enduring millennia of storm fronts, they created a strange symphony of wailing harmonics as they caressed the buildings eerily beautiful to those accustomed to the violent thunder of battle.

Listening to the music of the tempest were all the Space Marines present on the planet, each one letting it fill his ears with the song of the storm. Yet they were not an impassive audience as would attend an orchestra, they were active participants, each and every one standing unarmoured on the battlements and redoubts to taste the violence first hand. For this was the Chapter's most sacred rite, to stand before the unleashed fury of the hurricane and let it test their purity and in doing so find strength to face a hostile universe.

Standing on one high ledge was sergeant Toran and his squad, they had been left behind while the rest of First Company accompanied the Chapter Master, now they were barefoot and gripping the stonework with calloused hands. Toran stood proudly among his kin and even from this great height he could taste the salt spray in the air and feel the battering of the wind as it sought to rip him from his perch, he found it invigorating.

He glanced downwards from his high position and his augmetic eye easily disregarded the rain and lightning to pick out the crowds of Scout Novices hugging the lower escalades of the Fortress. They were struggling to hold their positions, clinging fiercely to the rockfaces with pale frozen fingertips that had long since gone numb as the wind tried to rip them away.

Some in the galaxy would have issued the lads with safety harnesses and handrails but such was not the Space Marines' way, the whole point was to test the Astartes and the Emperor's Storm was the ultimate trial of fortitude and focus. Even as Toran watched one lad was torn from his perch and thrown with bone snapping force against a wall before tumbling like a rag doll to the distant ground.

Toran saw that far below the figure of Wrethan was marching over, he was the only man permitted to wear armour at this time and as the only Chaplain left on the planet he would perform his sacred duties even in the midst of a hurricane. Wrethan barely gave the limp body a prod before calling over heavy servitors to cart away the corpse, then walked off to inspect the rest of the surviving novices.

Toran did not hold to the superstition that the Emperor's Storm was divine judgement upon the impure but he had no sympathy for the deceased either. He had seen that the lad's grip was sloppy and his strength lacking, better that he got himself killed rather than several of the more promising aspirants at a later date. If there was one thing every Astartes in the galaxy would agree upon it was that weakness in the ranks could not be tolerated.

Toran dragged his attention back to his own perch, he glanced to his side and saw his squadmates standing next to him, brothers Priyar, Zeax and Lorath all holding firmly to the battlement with faces covered in spray and illuminated with flashes of lightning. He yelled over the thunder and wind, knowing their enhanced hearing would pick out his words effortlessly as he said, "The storm sees fit to test us this time."

"This?" Zeax answered with a yell almost sounding happy for once, "This is but a light breeze, soon the whirlwind will begin in earnest and then we shall see a real challenge!" Toran agreed with him for the tempest was building in power, becoming staggering in its fury; he could already feel all the concerns and politics falling away from him as he was forced to concentrate on the here and now.

This was the secret heart of the chapter, the first and last lesson: that they must winnow away all that was not essential to the moment, all that was not pure about themselves. This truth was the essence of their spirit and their battlecry, when they shouted the traditional mantra it was not about rage, it was all about purity.

Toran's mediation was interrupted by a familiar voice saying over the howling wind, "Room for some more brother?"

He half turned and nearly let go of the rockface in surprise, standing next to him was a brother he knew as well as the back of his hand. "Furion!" the Sergeant cried in surprise and delight, and it was indeed his old squad mate, the giant Space Marine appearing next to him with a broad grin on his face.

Toran swiftly made room for his brother and he saw that he was not alone, coming onto the battlement were yet more familiar faces, Novak, Persion, Daite, Bylan, Jediah and bitter Halis Paur. Toran yelled to his current squadmates, "Brothers this is Pyrus squad of Ninth Company, more stalwart warriors you will never meet."

The combined squads swiftly made room to stand side by side and Toran was placed between Furion and Persion as he asked, "What are you doing here?"

Persion grinned and said, "Someone told us that the second coming of the Primarch was up here but alas all we found was your sad face moping about."

Toran actually grinned at that, he had not realised until this moment how much he had missed the easy camaraderie of the reserves, for there was a warm familiarity about his old squad, a human touch as it were. First Company was held to stricter standards and the vast majority of brothers were dour and strait laced at heart, if it were not for Priyar he would have no one he could talk with.

"Seriously why aren't you deployed?" he yelled as he the wind whipped spray onto his face.

Furion answered with a bellow, "We were cleansing feral Ork lairs on Glaeba with Mylos squad when the call came in, by the time we made it back home the fleet had already departed and we got left behind."

Toran understood all too well, the Chapter Master's fleet had entered Warp Space a few weeks earlier, taking almost every battle brother with it. All the senior Masters had departed leaving the Fortress monastery practically deserted; it was a forlorn situation he hoped would be swiftly resolved.

The howling wind fell quiet for a few seconds as it built up for another gale so Persion quickly said, "Life in First Company must be easier than we reckoned, apparently all you have to do is pick up a sword and they declare you a hero of the Chapter."

Brother Priyar seemed to be willing to join the camaraderie for he yelled from further down the line, "Don't ask him about that, he pulls a face any time someone brings it up."

Persion grinned, "Not enjoying your new celebrity status then?"

Toran replied, "I think I preferred it when nobody knew my name."

Standing next to Furion was Novak and he piped up glibly, "So when will we get to see this famous sword?" Without even swaying Furion lifted one hand from the battlement and swept his palm round to cuff Novak around the back of the head declaring, "Trust you to find the most inappropriate thing to say."

Toran could tell his newer brothers were bemused by the wit of Pyrus squad but he himself felt amused and reassured that they had not changed so he asked, "How is life with Furion as Sergeant?"

"Him?" Persion declared with a mocking grin, "He is a cruel taskmaster and doesn't let us get away with half the stuff you did."

Furion's reply was utterly deadpan, "About time someone beat some sense into you all."

Toran was glad to be seeing his old squad again and as the rain plastered itself to his skin asked, "So what have you actually been doing?"

Furion answered, "Oh just cleansing Orks nests, chasing down pirates, guarding pilgrim convoys, punishing heretics, traitors and rebels... the usual."

Persion said, "He is being polite, what he means is we've been doing all the jobs a Battle Company considers beneath them.

"I slew an Eldar" contributed Novak.

"You did not" countered Persion, "That corsair was just emaciated, that does not condemn him as a Xeno."

"He had a wraithbone sword" objected Novak.

"Oh and I suppose no Corsair could possibly have got his hands on a Xeno blade without first being an Eldar" mocked Persion mirthfully.

Furion cut them both off saying, "What about you, I heard you spent a year adrift in the void..."

"It is true and I was fortunate to be found after only a year, it could easily have been more" said Toran, "This was right after I encountered the Genestealers."

"Ah" said Novak, "Now there would be a fight to bestow real glory."

Toran wasn't sure any fight with the Tyranids could be called glorious but said, "Do not worry; the Emperor's work is never done. I am sure another fight will come up, it always does."

Whatever the next reply would have been was lost as a massive blast of lightning hit the building above their heads and there was an ear splitting peal of thunder, the Marines held on stoically but the force of the impact drove out all thoughts of cheer from their minds. The wind returned with tornado force now and it required absolute concentration to hold onto the battlements to prevent being blown away.

As the lightning crashed around them and the rain fell with the force of bullets, the Space Marines clung on fiercely and let the power of the hurricane sweep over them. There was no more time for talking as the heart of the storm engulfed over them and for a moment the whole Chapter was united in its embrace, the tempest making them all as one.

It was a rite they had undertaken their entire lives and it was different each time yet the essence of it never changed but today something completely new occurred.

Without any warning at all a brilliant flash of enduring light tore apart the grey clad skies as a new sun burned through the cloud cover and penetrated even the power of the hurricane. The Fortress Monastery was cast into harsh contrast as the rays blazed down upon them, turning every rain drop into a shimmering prism and everybody gasped as Persion cried, "Something big just blew up in low orbit!"

Before anyone could move alert klaxons started wailing and with an actinic tang the void shields lit over their heads, cutting off the fury of the storm. In the sudden, still silence Toran looked skyward at the still blazing orb overhead and shouted, "It is an attack!"


	5. Chapter 5

**Noctem Oritur: Chapter 5**

On the bridge of the Shadow of the Emperor a productive frenzy of activity was occurring, the mutant crew bustling to and fro as they enacted their superior's orders. The battle was going well and they had just successfully seen off a counter attack by a trio of Strike Cruisers but that did not give them cause to celebrate.

The approach to the planet had been fraught with worry and anxiety, the dubious cover of the Reflex Shields being the only protection they enjoyed as they drifted past the waiting guns of the defence platforms. The crew's tension could have been cut with a knife and had it not been for the looming forms of Beta and Gamma moving amongst them their panic would have ruined everything.

Still the plan had worked perfectly, the orbital defences had been obliterated in the surprise attack and even now the Chaos cruisers were working to suppress the ground based defences. Standing high on the command dais was Vorshaan himself, gripping the rail with both hands as he bellowed orders at frightened crewmen, "Signal the bombers to continue pursuit of that last Strike Cruiser, it must not be allowed to escape!"

As the crew rushed to obey he lifted his gaze to stare into a large hololith suspended over the amphitheatre sized space, it was a vast display and showed in shocking detail every object currently in orbit of Lujan II. The Dusk Prince ran calculations in his head then gave fresh orders, "Signal the Ixion to keep hitting the dirt side missile silos but have Phorcides squadron break off to sweep the polar vectors, there are defence stations yet undamaged and I want them all destroyed. Then have the Ephiatles close with that orbital dock over the equator, make it clear I want it captured intact, we will need it when we start bringing up the slaves and spoils."

Fresh waves of mutants leapt to obey and Vorshaan grinned in enjoyment, after centuries of meticulous planning his victory was at last within his reach and he gloried in it. His self-congratulations were interrupted as Gamma approached the dais, kicking aside mutants who were too slow to scatter as he called, "Void shields raised."

"Finally" Vorshaan spat, "We were vulnerable for far too long, find out who was in charge of that system and stick their head on a pole as encouragement to the rest. Now what do the imperial dogs have left out there?"

Beta called from the sensorium pits, "There is an enemy naval base in high orbit ahead; it is undamaged and powering weapons."

"Excellent" said Vorshaan with a grin, "Take us right at it and power up the forward lances."

The stars in the Hololith spun as the great battleship changed its orbital vectors, closing upon the space station with dread intent but the prey was far from helpless. As the Shadow of the Emperor closed in the naval base's weapons lit up, throwing out a hail of shells and missiles that impacted dead square on its prow, this was followed up by a pair of savage lance blasts that sent waves of energy cascading along the flanks as the void shields dissipated the energy.

Vorshaan wasn't even rocked by the impacts, his ship's shields easily repulsing the deadly salvo, in return he cried, "Divert power to weapons and lock on target!" Long seconds passed as the crew responded then Gamma called from the gunnery crew pits, "Confirmed weapon lock."

Vorshaan bellowed "Open fire!" causing thick columns of energy to erupt from the Shadow's prow. They caught the drifting station right in the centre and overwhelmed its shields to rupture the hull making compartment after compartment blow out under the terrible weight of fire. The beams tore onwards to sever power conduits and plasma vessels, killing everyone in their way as they burrowed deeper into the hull.

Jagged flaming wounds were torn in the station's hull and lights flickered over its surface as power lines failed from the damage inflicted. Vorshaan laughed with glee and roared, "Hit them again!" Once more the lances speared out to gut the foe, this time stabbing right into its heart and killing the reactors, plasma spilled out to wreck even more damage but it was redundant for the station was dying and outgassing from its hull caused to spin.

Yet there was one last surprise in store, from under the dying wreck shot the tiny arrow of a Cobra class destroyer, running for deep space with everything it had. Vorshaan spotted the fleeing vessel and cried, "Dorsal lances target that ship!" Inexorably the turrets swung round tracking the fleeing dot, the vessel pushed harder in response, practically burning itself out but it was pointless for the Shadow was faster.

The turrets fixed onto the destroyer and with barely a flicker of power annihilated it utterly, Vorshaan laughed at the sight and cried "This isn't war, this is sport!" But before he could savour the moment the bridge suddenly lit up as a bright flash of light poured over the Hololith blotting out everything else, slowly it faded away to leave behind a spinning debris and sensor baffling radiation zones.

"What was that?" bellowed Vorshaan furiously.

Beta replied, "One of the transports drifted into the firing arc of the Storm Herald's Monastery, it had no chance against the firepower of their lance batteries."

"Idiots" snarled Vorshaan, "I gave specific orders that all ships were to keep the arc of the horizon between themselves and the Fortress at all times. If they were not dead already I would kill them myself."

His rant was interrupted by a commotion at the bridge's hatch, two Night Lords of Vorshaan's retinue were trying to deny entry to a group of newcomers. Unfortunately they were both outnumbered and outclassed by the powerful lords bearing down upon them so Vorshaan sighed in irritation and signalled his men to stand down.

Striding onto the bridge were four Chaos Marines, each an infamous warlord in his own right but for now fighting under Vorshaan's banner. They were walking as a loose group to display their unity of spirit yet nobody was willing to walk too close together to each other in case of a treacherous blow.

Vorshaan knew each and every one of them was plotting his death which was why he had made sure to choose warbands aligned to different gods, that way their hatred of each other would eclipse their hate for him. As an added measure Beta had carefully chosen warbands that were not too large individually, so while each lord wanted him dead none were confident that they would be the victor of the ensuing power struggle.

Vorshaan swallowed his contempt for their petty games knowing he still needed them and said, "Welcome friends, you have arrived just in time to see the completion of the first phase."

The first to speak was Jubila, sickeningly glorious in his lurid armour as he said, "Skip the pleasantries, we are here to demand to know why you are delaying the assault!"

Vorshaan's voice became a dangerous hiss as he said, "Demand?"

The warlord Thessus was a monstrosity in gold and brass armour and he ignored the Dusk Prince's implied threat to say, "You sent in mortals ahead of us, you shame the Blood God!"

Vorshaan waved a hand dismissively, "Mere chaff to tie down the defenders and keep them guessing as to our true intentions, do not worry, soon the real invasion will begin and the slaughter shall be great."

The bloated form of the warlord Killorn was dripping vile oozes from the cracks in his armour as he said, "You promised us great spoils from this raid but we have yet to see a single slave."

"Raid?" Vorshaan countered, "This is no mere raid on some agri world, this is an Astartes homeworld and we have a meticulous seventeen stage plan to take this planet for everything its worth. Trust me when we are done you will earn enough spoils to keep you going for centuries."

The Sorcerer Yuikai spoke up, "It is difficult to trust you when you will not tell us the plan... perhaps if we knew how you intend to penetrate the defences around the Storm Herald's Fortress Monastery itself we would be reassured."

Vorshaan's hands itched to draw his swords and take the enchanter's head but it was an open secret the Thousand Son was an envoy from his Daemonic Primarch; offending Magnus the Red was not a risk Vorshaan was prepared to take at this juncture. Instead he grinned as if sharing a fine jest and said, "If I were stupid enough to tell you that then I really would deserve a knife in the back, no no I think that little titbit will stay with me until the time is ripe."

The warlords seemed irate at his dismissal so Vorshaan addressed them all saying, "You all seem to be forgetting that you still need me, do you think I have not planned this out to the last detail, that I have not accounted for every possible factor. I am the one who rebuilt this very ship, I am the one who foresaw the imperial dog's moment of greatest weakness and I am the one who made this invasion a reality. I will crush these pathetic lap dogs and when I do you shall all reap the bounty."

His self-congratulatory tirade was interrupted by the arrival of a cowering mutant serf, quivering in terror before the assembled lords. Vorshaan fixed him with a furious glare and snapped, "What is it?"

The pathetic creature looked ready to soil itself but still wailed, "My lord the bombers report they failed to stop the Strike Cruiser escaping, they sacrificed their Thunderhawks with mortal pilots as a delaying screen so the ship itself could break free. The bombers cannot stop it reaching the Warp Translation point."

Barely had the words left its lips when Vorshaan was leaping over the rail and clasping one massive gauntlet around its neck as he roared, "They failed?! Do you not understand that ship will have Astropaths on board, once they get clear of my Sorcerer's influence they will broadcast a distress call to summon back the Storm Heralds fleet!"

The pathetic creature wailed, "It is not my fault, don't kill me!"

Vorshaan blinked and said, "Kill you… no the bomber crews I will kill myself but that's far too fast for you; you will merely be pleading for death."

He effortlessly threw the creature to Jubila saying, "Here, a trinket for your deviants to amuse themselves with."

Jubila caught the wretch and as it screamed thinkly in horror he said, "Not much meat on it, I doubt it will last a lazy afternoon."

Yuikai stepped forwards and said, "The escapee need not be problem, once in the Warp they will be exposed to the predations of the Neverborrn, I could summon a horde that even a Gellar field would not stop."

Vorshaan snarled in reply, "Put my fate in the hands of Daemons, I think not."

"Then what?" asked Killorn with a bubble in its throat.

"We forget the plan" barked Vorshaan turning to face the assembled warlords, "We are moving straight on to phase four of the invasion, get to your gunships and prepare to launch. We need to win this war swiftly before the lap dog's reinforcements arrive."


	6. Chapter 6

**Noctem Oritur: Chapter 6**

The Storm Eagle's interior was a rattling box of nausea and claustrophobia, hot from the fires of re-entry with the sickening runes of the fell powers inscribed everywhere. The nightmarish interior could have been mistaken for hell by most men but not by its current inhabitants, they had already seen true hell with their own eyes.

Within the gunship a dozen Chaos Space Marines were locked into their restraint cages, they could not see the outside world but then there was nothing they could have done should they been able to. They were clad in midnight hues with vivid lightning bolts and grizzly trophies wrought from human skin and bones; they were not speaking for they had nothing to say and knew that even if they did nobody cared.

Amongst them was the giant brute Gamma, his armour stood out for it was lighter in hue and marked with chained 'A' shapes and multi headed serpents yet he was not truly an Alpha legionnaire, genetically he was a Storm Herald. Whelped from stolen gene-seed and forged into a vile mockery of his progenitors, he had been honed and indoctrinated for one purpose: to destroy the enemies of the XXth Legion. The warrior had never seen this world before nor the Fortress Monastery of his gene-sires yet he stilled hated them with burning passion which was only slightly greater than his hatred for his companions.

He did not know why he hated all around him, he was content with the simple fact that he did and that he would take out his loathing upon the universe. It would never have occurred to him that this lack of introspection was exactly why he had he had been chosen for ascension, that he would never think to turn on his true XXth legion masters, not out of loyalty but rather that it would just not occur to him.

So he waited impatiently in the gunship as it dived earthwards resenting every second he was not in combat, until with an almighty peal of the thunder the Storm Eagle pulled up and fired braking jets to come to a stop one metre above the ground. Instantly the Chaos Marines were grabbing weapons and leaping for the central hatch, a moment later the ramp ground down, it waited just long enough for its cargo to disembark then pulled away to leave the squad standing in an urban war zone.

The city was cast in darkness, nights on this planet were long and the power had failed, what little light there was came from burning wrecks but to the Chaos Marines that was a good as having floodlights. They looked about and saw that devastation was everywhere and a pair of brazen Dreadclaw pods sat steaming amid charred bodies, clear evidence that Thessus and his butchers had got here first. They could not have been more than a few minutes ahead so Gamma gripped his battleaxe tightly and set off at a sprint with his squad following close behind.

They followed a trail of civilian bodies which led deeper into the city, the bodies had been torn asunder as if they had been fed into a thresher machine and the marks of Khorne were everywhere. Gamma almost found the slaughter filled path of the Blood God appealing but the XXth Legion had taught him that Chaos was tool to be used and even then with caution, only an idiot would worship the ruinous powers.

They raced down the wide boulevards, the fronts of the buildings were covered in bolter craters but still their ornate facades could be seen underneath. The streets of the capital city were too wide to properly defend, the buildings set too far back and with wide open windows now filled with shattered glass.

They pressed onwards along the wide boulevards and Gamma could see how pathetic the defence had been, how feeble the dress soldiers of the PDF were. The environment itself was lacking the sooty grime and congested traffic of any decent Imperial city, this capital city was purpose built for administration and politics not industry or shipping. The buildings were overly ornamental, built for aesthetics not defence while decorative parks were scattered everywhere, this was a nobleman's architectural folly not a functioning city.

The PDF had made a pathetic attempt at throwing up barricades made from furniture and overturned ground transports but they jogged past the ashes seeing not a single Chaos Marine amid the piles of bodies. Here the path diverged, the trail heading deeper into the city but from the other direction came the sounds of fighting, Gamma and his squad instantly changed direction and followed the sounds to emerge in the grounds of a large edifice.

The space was wide and verdant with shrubs and hedges decoratively placed everywhere, there was a long reflecting pool stretching ahead of them running right up to the base of a large domed, building that screamed its function as a senatorial chamber. The senate was typically gothic in its imperial style, heavily overbuilt and dour in its construction, which meant it doubled as a ready-made fortress.

The structure had two wide wings stretching outwards at oblique angles and here at last there was real resistance, for the PDF had barricaded themselves inside to create a withering crossfire. From every window poked the barrels of heavy bolters, lascanons or missile launchers and they rained down fire like there would be no tomorrow.

For these men that would prove literally true.

Scattered around the park were more Night Lords, a squad's worth at least and with them was Beta laying in a muddy puddle, they were all sheltering behind hedges and statues to screen themselves from the barrage coming at them. It was galling to see Chaos Marines seeking cover but the defensive fire was intense and even power armour had its limits, the building was beyond bolter range and they lacked heavy weapons to respond.

Gamma ran forwards but a shot from a lascanon passed within two inches of his hide and he was forced to duck behind a large statue of a bearded potentate sitting in a large white throne. He snarled in frustration looking for reinforcements but there was nobody else, so he keyed his vox and said, "Beta, where are the rest?"

Beta didn't look up as he replied, "Unsurprisingly they all took off to pursue their own slaughters the second we landed."

Gamma was incensed and growled, "Damnation, why isn't Vorshaan planet side, he should be leading the attack!"

Beta replied, "The Dusk Prince thinks if he leaves his chariot unattended one of the lesser warlords will steal his new flagship out from under him."

"Paranoid fool" spat Gamma.

Beta replied snidely, "It is only paranoia if they are not plotting against you."

Gamma shook his head in disgust, "We will have to risk a frontal charge, casualties will be inevitable... unless you have some clever scheme."

Beta sneered, "What do you think I've been doing?"

Gamma risked a glance over and saw that whilst they had been talking Beta had been scrawling arcane runes into the muddy ground with his hands. He finished with a final swipe of an armoured digit and there was a sudden tang in the air as the invocation came into being and twisted reality around them.

Silence fell for a few seconds as the barrage stopped but then with a thunderous bang it resumed but not towards them, now the men in the two wings of the senate were firing at each other. Shells, rockets and Lascanon blasts erupted in the space between the two wings and the whole building shook as the stonework blew out, spilling broken bodies and shattered masonry in a waterfall of debris.

Gamma said in surprise, "You seized control of their minds."

Beta stood up and said, "Nothing so crude, I merely cast glamour's on their eyes, making their comrades look like enemies; the rest was entirely up to them."

Gamma merely grunted then set off in a sprint along the edge of the reflecting pool, the two squads following in lockstep but they needn't have bothered for the PDF had effectively slaughtered itself and any survivors were buried in rubble. Gamma pressed on knowing this was the defender's last stand, if he took the senate then the city was theirs but there was one last surprise in store for him.

As he set his armoured boot upon the first step leading up to the great entrance the wooden doors burst open, literally bursting apart as a large tracked vehicle smashed through them. It was a chimera chassis with two wide tracks and a heavy bolter already firing but its back bore large drums of promethium fuel and its turret carried an elongated projector nozzle for it was an Imperial Guard Hellhound.

The turret swung round to track the oncoming Traitors and before any of them could react it unleashed a jet of fire, at this range it could not miss and the flames kissed them all. The heat was intense but ceramite was forged to withstand the extremes of space making it immune, regrettably the same could not be said for the squad's flexible seals and respirator's. Flames licked at the vulnerable joint seals and ate them away faster than acid as sparks rushed down open mouths and filled lungs with fire.

Two Chaos Marines succumbed to the Hellhound's retribution and fell on their faces like toppled candles yet Gamma was not among them, one second before the jet had hit them he had grabbed one of his comrades and physically hauled the unfortunate before him as a shield. He carried the blazing Night Lord before him as it thrashed helplessly at the betrayal but as the brute stepped past the tongues of fire he discarded the dying shield uncared for and forgotten in his wake.

The Hellhound swung its turret around but Gamma leapt forwards swinging his cursed axe high to sever the nozzle in one blow and the turret ground to a halt as the crew struggled to comprehend what had happened. The Chaos Marine gave them no time to recover as he climbed up onto the upper hull and grabbed one of the promethium tanks in both hands to rip it free. The tank's crew knew they had been boarded and opened the hatch to respond but Gamma kicked the first man so hard that it snapped the neck, then he punched a hole in the barrel he carried and cascaded fuel down the hatch.

The mortals screamed pathetically as they were doused in fuel but faster than thought Gamma struck his armoured boot along the ridge of the hatch, dragging his heel to create a shower of sparks and instantly the fuel caught light making the crew scream in inhuman suffering as they burned alive. Gamma grinned to himself and leapt clear of the Hellhound, he ran hard to get out of range before the tank's store of promethium caught light and then the whole vehicle exploded like a bonfire on a dark night.

With the last defence broken the remaining Chaos Marines charged past the towering brute, diving into the senate building and slaughtering the cowering noblemen before they could escape. With the planet's civilian government being beheaded one by one Beta casually strolled up to Gamma as if taking a leisurely walk in a park saying, "You enjoyed that didn't you?"

Gamma ignored the snide comment and growled instead, "The city is ours."

"Good then the stage is set" declared Beta as he looked out over the burning city and ordered, "Find the other warlords and drag them out of their debaucheries, tell them we need their cultists for the next phase of the plan. The Storm Heralds will not suffer this to stand; we need to be ready when they come looking for us."


	7. Chapter 7

**Noctem Oritur: Chapter 7**

It was a moonless night and the midnight sky was lit only by starlight yet against that backdrop a series of cruciform shapes moved, they were Thunderhawk gunships and they were flying high and fast. They did not fly alone for with them came Stormhawk interceptors and Stormtalon attack craft; this was an expedition in force to shatter the enemy invaders and drive them from this world.

Far below the inky blackness of the oceans gave way to land as they passed over the coast and began their descent towards the enemy invaders occupying the capital city. Aboard one of the Thunderhawks were all the various squads who were not in Third Company, they were a mismatched force but their training and expertise would make them deadly nonetheless. Strapped into a restraint cage was Sergeant Toran, his torso was pushed awkwardly forwards by the bulk of a jump pack on his back and he had the Sword of Thiel strapped to his hip. His understrength squad was outfitted as Vanguards rather than Terminators for in this battle speed was more important than strength.

Strapped in next to him were Priyar, Zeax and Lorath they had all visited the armoury before leaving and as First Company veterans had been gifted with the finest wargear. Priyar boasted an ancient power maul engraved with litanies of detestation and Lorath had a pair of lightning claws that gleamed with deadly potential. Zeax had been doubly blessed with a weighty thunder hammer in one hand and wide combat shield in the other. Physically they were all ready but the sergeant knew that Lorath was quietly seething; he had long dreamed of commanding a squad but yet again had been passed over this time in favour of Toran. Lorath was technically proficient but lacked the inspiring qualities required in a leader, he was disciplined enough to not say a word when he had found out Toran had been promoted but the resentment was there.

From where Toran was standing he could see the other squads in the gunships, the towering form of Sergeant Furion standing across from Sergeant Mylos. Toran had a bad history from the start with Mylos and though he had tried to overcome it the feeling had not been reciprocated. Mylos had not said a word to him since they had boarded the gunship and Toran was beyond trying to reconcile with him.

Other than the three squads the only person aboard was Chaplain Wrethan, as the only clergy left on the planet he was in secondary command of the strike force and was directing the mismatched squads as his entourage. The planned counter attack was swift and direct, entirely in keeping with the Codex Astartes and yet Toran could not shake his misgivings.

Toran said aloud, "This is too easy."

Furion looked over at him and said, "I know what you mean, where the enemy interceptors… where are the orbital strikes?"

Mylos spoke up saying, "They are filthy heretics and base traitors; you give them too much credit."

Furion replied, "Never underestimate your enemy, the galaxy is littered with the graves of Astartes who relied upon the incompetence of the foe."

"Vorshaan" snarled Toran, "I scarcely believed it when the reports came in that the filth was here but there can be no doubt, this invasion has his foul fingerprints all over it."

From next to him Priyar spoke up, "Are the rumours true, has he resurrected the Shadow of the Emperor?"

"Impossible" said Lorath, "It is some trick, some vile lie to disgrace our noble cousins in the Raven Guard."

"Nothing is impossible" Wrethan injected, "Chaos can corrupt anything and we must be ever on our guard, only the Emperor is constant and true."

Priyar spoke up to ask, "How do you think the Raven Guard will react when they hear about this?"

"They will be outraged, their fury will be incandescent" said Toran.

"Not just them but their successors too" interrupted Furion, "The Raptors, Black Guard, Revilers, Knights of the Raven and the Smoke Jaguars will all be after the Dusk Prince's head, he has made a grave mistake coming here."

"That is what bothers me" said Toran, "Vorshaan is devious and manipulative, he thrives on lies and his attacks are always cunning, always surrounded by deception. This invasion is too direct and conventional for his tastes, he is up to something."

"I don't follow" said Furion.

"Why this city, why this continent?" said Toran, "Ka Lua is the smallest and least importance continent on the planet, there is nothing here but the nobility's private estates and even the capital is nothing more than an administrative centre."

"You overthink everything" sneered Mylos.

"No he is right" rebuked Furion, "It is the continent of Ka Mua that boasts all the spaceports, factories and industries not to mention the highest population density. All the strategic targets are there, the Traitors should have attacked there not here."

"What about the lands of Ke Kolu?" asked Mylos.

"That landmass was long ago given to the Tech-Priests for their Forges" said Furion, "The Mechanicus have that whole continent locked up tight, they wouldn't let anyone near their sacred fanes."

Toran had a thought and said, "The Mechanicus boasts vast armies of skittarii, their forces could be a great boon in this battle, have we approached the Tech-Priests for aid?"

Wrethan replied, "I already spoke to their Chief Magos myself, they wish us good fortune but will not risk their forges by sending any troops to aid us, it is up to us to stop this invasion."

"Typical" muttered Mylos "They are almost as bad as the Imperial Guard, we cannot rely on anyone else."

Furion responded, "Speaking of reinforcements is there any word from Chapter Master Gorgall?"

Wrethan answered, "The three remaining Librarians have been combining their efforts to reach the Chapter but the Chaos scum are doing something to the Warp, neither they nor our Astropaths can penetrate the interference."

"We did get a Strike Cruiser out" said Toran.

"There has been no word since their last vox hail" replied Wrethan, "They may have cleared the interference or they may have foundered in a Warp Storm, we must assume the worst."

"Then it is up to us" said Zeax, "We will crush these heretics ourselves."

"Indeed" said Wrethan, "Captain Dassa is leading third company in a counter attack on the captial and has all three remaining Librarians with him. Sergeant Nimodes has already dispersed his scouts into the area, he reports that there are a large army of cultists present, armoured support is scant but they are led by up to three hundred Chaos Marines."

That drew in a sharp gasp of breath from all and Toran said, "They outnumber us three to one."

"Worried?" sneered Mylos.

"No" said Toran narrowing his organic eye furiously, "But it will change our deployment strategies we should consider..."

He didn't get to finish the sentence for the vox snarled into life and the voice of Captain Dassa came over from his own Thunderhawk to say, "Scouts have discovered a secondary target, a large aerodrome outside the capital has been seized and enemy aircraft are already landed there. This is a direct threat to our assault, Chaplain Wrethan take your entourage and eliminate all opposition while Third Company remains on target."

"You heard the order" Wrethan said, "Furion, Mylos prepare your squads to deploy, Toran ready your vanguards for Deep Strike."

Instantly Toran and his squad leapt from their cages, mag-locking their boots to the deck as the Thunderhawk banked away from the main strike force. They made their way across the lurching deck to the front of the gunship and opened the side hatches to peer out; the assault ramp remained closed for opening a hole in the front of the aircraft mid-flight would bring it to an instant and fatal halt.

Toran gripped the sides of the door and saw a countdown begin in his visor as the pilots routed strike data to his vox link, he peered out at the inky darkness and waited for the numbers to slide down to zero. Finally they were over the target and as the countdown reach five he shouted, "For Terra and the memory of Roboute Guilliman!"

Then he leapt from the Thunderhawk to be instantly enveloped in inky darkness as he plunged into the midnight sky and the gunship disappeared above him, all he could hear was the roar of the wind around his helm and the sensation of weightlessness filled him as he dropped in free fall. Above him blazed the stars in the cloudless sky and before him were the shining lights of the city, it was like being adrift in space once more, the weight of his armour was moot now and he found it curiously peaceful.

For long minutes he plunged earthwards knowing his squad was behind him and eager for the fray then his visor came alive with targeting data, filling his vision with data. He saw the aerodrome spread out before him filled with enemy strike craft and wandering guards, his enhanced mind sectioned the base in a heartbeat and he evaluated the threats looking for the greatest concentration of foes.

He was dropping right onto the lean tower of the air control room but knew that this was a low priority, instead he saw a vehicle park filled with concentrations of Hydra batteries and Manticore missile launchers all grouped together. This was a serious threat to the Thunderhawk carrying the remaining squads and had to be eliminated fast, Toran fired a half second burst from his jump pack and veered onto the new target readying his sword and bolt pistol for the first strike.

They were falling at terminal velocity now and the ground was rushing upwards with the speed of freight train, ready to obliterate them if their jump packs hesitated even for a single moment. Toran could only trust in its ancient spirit to vouchsafe his life so he twisted around to drop feet first in readiness. Even in the dark his autosenses picked out the target in perfect detail and he saw the foe milling around, tending to the vehicle park blissfully unaware that death fell upon their heads. He levelled his bolt pistol at a particularly foul mutant and took aim; he breathed for single second then pulled the trigger.

Barely had the round left the barrel of his gun when his jump pack fired, twin columns of jet flame searing out past his legs towards the ground and arresting his fall. Toran felt like his spine was being ripped out and that his feet were dead weights pulling him towards instant death but his enhanced frame was more than a match for such wrenching forces and he was unharmed. Two seconds later he hit the ground like a ton of bricks, the jump pack had saved his life but he still impacted hard enough to shatter the ferrocrete surface. His enhanced legs and armour absorbed the force of the landing and left his crouching form squatting amid a crater of broken stone.

He wasted not a moment and before the enemy even processed his arrival he was acting, leaping forwards with the stored energy of a coiled spring and with a roar of righteous anger he charged into war once more.


	8. Chapter 8

**Noctem Oritur: Chapter 8**

Among the massed ranks of vehicles the Storm Heralds carved a blood soaked path through the enemy, the milling mutants running screaming in confusion, filled with utter terror of the Emperor's angels. The vanguards were slaughtering everything within reach, barely taking a scratch from the mutants in return as they brought the Emperor's judgement down upon them.

Toran was swinging his sword in wide arcs, each blow smiting down a cultist while behind him his squad advanced in lockstep, their weapons covered in mutant blood. One of the mutants had sense enough to stay in his Salamander vehicle and tried to bring the hull mounted heavy bolter to bear but Lorath triggered his jump pack and shot up into the air, he landed in the open crew deck and plunged his lightning claws down. There was a shrill cry of pain then Lorath withdrew his blades and the vehicle sat silently as the battle brother leapt onwards to find his next foe.

Meanwhile Toran heard the ear shattering roar of the Thunderhawk diving down to deliver its cargo but ahead he saw a Hydra battery swinging about to target the gunship. He did not hesitate as he grabbed a frag grenade from his belt and lobbed it over the raised barrels to land in the crew compartment, a flat bang echoed forth and the Hydra fell still as death claimed the mutant crew.

The Thunderhawk plunged low to land near a large barracks building and the sounds of fighting echoed forth, the flat bangs of bolters declaring the other squads had engaged even as the gunship took off again. It took up a circling pattern over the field, strafing the Chaos aircraft with lascanons and scattering their crews with heavy bolters. Toran focussed on his own fight, never pausing as he hewed and chopped about him, the mutants falling like wheat before a scythe and soon the last of them had collapsed to leave the Space Marines standing amid piles of cooling corpses.

There was no time to celebrate though for over the vox came the voice of Chaplain Wrethan calling, "Sergeant Toran, your vanguards are required!"

Instantly the squad turned and raced towards the bunker complex attached to the control tower, they ran out from amongst the parked vehicles and pulled up when they saw what was awaiting them. Dug in before the entrance to the bunker were a squad of Chaos Marines, clad in midnight armour etched with lightning bolts and grizzly trophies. They were covering behind prefabricated barricades and laying down a deadly barrage with plasma guns that lit up the darkness with shining bolts of star bright energy blasts.

"Havocs" Toran growled as he evaluated the situation in a microsecond, he could see the squads of Mylos and Furion were advancing with bolters spraying liberally but the plasma fire was a deadly threat even to power armour. The loyalists had the advantage of numbers but the Chaos Marines were dug in and the Codex was clear that charging into the face of such firepower would result in heavy casualties: fortunately there was a swifter path to victory available.

Toran cried "Follow me!" as the squad triggered their jump packs, a kick in the rear like the foot of a god sent them sailing into the air and Toran gripped his sword tight as they arced up over the barricades. The Havocs saw them coming and raised their weapons to fire a burst of overwatch but the angle was poor and blasts passed harmlessly under their boots as they reached the top of their arcs and plummeted to the ground.

Toran aimed for a vile Traitor with bat wings on his helm and swung the Sword of Thiel with all of his strength and momentum behind it, the ancient blade met warped ceramite and cut through it like wet parchment. Toran crashed to the ferrocrete as the headless corpse of the Traitor fell to the ground and he looked about for the next foe seeing that the rest of the squad had engaged.

Lorath had fallen upon a Havoc with his lightning claws stretched before him, the eight blades plunging into the Traitor's chest and piercing both black hearts. Another heretic counter charged but the noble battle brother swept his claws laterally before him and the cur was sliced into a half dozen neat pieces.

Meanwhile Priyar was wrestling with a Night Lord who had a long serrated knife in his hand, they grappled chest to chest and the traitor actually managed to work his blade into the side of the loyalist's armour. Blood flowed but Priyar was undaunted as he broke one arm free and then swung his power maul down onto the heretic's head, a blaze of actinic energy flared forth and the Night Lord's skull imploded leaving the Storm Herald victorious.

Meanwhile Zeax was being confronted by a Traitor who was letting off blasts from his plasma gun, he caught the star bright bolt on his combat shield and it spilled around him harmlessly as he swung his Thunder Hammer in return. The blow would have caved in a tank's hull, it would have cracked granite and it shattered the Traitor's armour to blast gory entrails in a wide circle around Zeax.

While all this was occurring Toran was being confronted by two Night Lords, who wielded spinning chainswords with deadly skill, he was forced to make a series of parries and deflections to keep them at bay. His sword was far deadlier than theirs but they had the advantage of numbers and knew how to use it, every time he thrust at one the other would attack instantly at his exposed flank.

Toran knew it was only a matter of time before he made a mistake and that his only option was to risk everything in one throw of the dice, he gathered himself up and leapt forwards knocking aside the chainsword and plunging his blade into the corrupted chestplate. Perhaps he could have recovered in time but even as the blade slid home the heretic locked spiked gauntlets around Toran's wrists, immobilising him for an instant. Sensing opportunity the other Chaos Marine leapt forwards with his chainsword revving as he swung for all he was worth, Toran looked up and saw his death descending upon him on its spinning edge and knew he was too slow to counter.

An instant before the chainsword met his neck there was a flat bang and he heard a buzzing roar as a trio of bolt rounds passed within an inch of his head. The rounds hurtled past him and hit the traitor in the helm, one hitting him in mouth grill and the others in the eye pieces, both of them hitting one eye apiece to blow the heretic's skull apart in a splatter of gore. The headless Night Lord fell to the ground in a clatter of armour plates leaving Toran gripping his blade which was still impaled into the first heretic; he gathered his strength and wrenched the Sword of Thiel sideways to rip it out of the traitor in a bloody shower.

As the Chaos Marine collapsed Toran turned to look at the headless corpse and was startled by the incredible accuracy of the volley that saved his life, he half turned to look behind him and he was surprised to see the distinct form of Sergeant Mylos standing a long, long way away for such a remarkable shot. Toran glanced at the Sergeant's helm seeing the proud transverse crest for marksmanship and he realised that he had forgotten exactly how Mylos had won such laurels.

As the vanguards had been fighting Chaplain Wrethan had led the rest of the squads into the fray, charging into battle shouting, "The Emperor's judgement falls upon you!" With overwhelming numbers the two squads surrounded and cut down the remaining Night Lords, brother Persion claiming the last kill by stabbing a Traitor in the neck with a short gladius.

With that the fight had ended and squads instantly fell into guard ready for the next wave of enemies to attack, but there was none to be found. Stillness fell and Wrethan directed the squads to take a moment to check the corpses of the heretics, making certain they were really dead and had left no deadly surprises behind.

Toran began running the fight through his mind again and realised that he owed a debt to Sergeant Mylos for his incredible shot, despite their feud his battle brother had saved his life. Toran swallowed his antipathy and walked over to Mylos who was conversing with Furion, he tried to sound humble as he bowed in gratitude and said, "My thanks Sergeant, your keen eye and steady aim saved my life."

Mylos at least had the decency not to say anything snide as he replied, "I would have done the same for any Space Marine."

Toran tried not to find any offence in the statement as he replied, "Nevertheless I owe you a debt which I shall strive to repay in kind."

Furion had been watching the exchange and said diplomatically, "Let us always remember our greatest strength is our brotherhood, the Emperor weeps when we forget that we are all united in his service."

Their conversation was interrupted as Brother Persion stood up from the body he was examining, the communication specialist had been listening to his enhanced vox gear as he worked and he declared loudly, "Third Company is making swift progress; the enemy is being routed before them and they have the senate building in sight."

"Excellent, that is indeed good news" replied Toran, "It seems Vorshaan was not as prepared as we thought, perhaps I was wrong to doubt Captain Dassa's application of the Codex."

Mylos said coldly, "Then perhaps you should desist from criticising our superior's plans, it makes you sound like you think you know better than everybody else."

There were two ways to take that statement and Toran decided to swallow his irritation and take it as constructive feedback, so he said, "I thank you for your honesty, it is indeed an imperfection I need to address, I shall pay penance for my hubris once we return to the Fortress Monastery."

Mylos actually paused at that, as if expecting some snide comeback and did not know how to respond to the humble words. Yet before he could think of a reply that did not sound petty Chaplain Wrethan ran past them towards the entrance to the barracks as he shouted, "Cease your idle chatter, there are battles yet to be won before we rejoin third company for the final push!"

Toran, Furion and Mylos looked at each other and then they gripped their weapons tightly and ran together into the barracks building ready for the next fight.


	9. Chapter 9

**Noctem Oritur: Chapter 9**

Inside the bunker complex battle raged, the noble forms of Loyalists grappling with the twisted parodies that were their Traitorous brethren. Knives flashed in the flickering gloom of the interior and bolters discharged at point blank range to crack ceramite and throw bodies backwards. The loyalists had fought their way inside the bunker complex, fighting cultists at every step from the gate until they had found themselves in a large aircraft hangar yet here they found true opposition at last: a squad of Chaos Marines. The two sides met in a clash of blood and fury, hacking and stabbing with the frenzied hatred only ten thousand years of war could produce.

Amid the swirling combat Storm Heralds stabbed at Night Lords with shining blades who in return hacked and cleaved with notched cleavers. Sergeant Furion was laying about himself with great blows of his combat blade, his mighty strength overpowering enemies through brute force. Whereas Persion was savagely cunning as he stepped up to engaged foes and stabbed them in the neck, hardly honourable but then in war nothing is so honourable as victory.

Sergeant Mylos was standing back and firing off eerily accurate shots from his bolter, every round finding a weak point in midnight armour yet the loyalists were not having much success. The foe was just as transhuman as they were and many of their mightiest strikes were merely stunning the enemy while their own armour was scored and deeply gouged.

Chaplain Wrethan was fighting a sorcerer whose helm was crowned with four twisted horns and wielding a staff with a three headed serpent on one end. Wrethan swung his Crozius over and over trying to smite the witch and he roared, "Die Heretic!" The Sorcerer swung his staff two handed to deflect every blow and sneered, "You are a walking cliché." Then he made an arcane gesture to unleash a wave of spectral daggers that flew forwards, yet even as they dived upon the Chaplain his Rosarius flared and deflected the spell in a burst of holy light and the duel continued.

Meanwhile Toran was fighting a giant of a Chaos Marine, easily as tall as Furion, this one was different for his armour was marked with writhing serpents or chained 'A' shapes and he wielded a double headed axe with brutal force. Toran lunged and slashed with the Sword of Thiel but the Traitor blocked his every strike, countering his every move. Toran gritted his teeth in frustration, the Sword of Thiel was a legendary relic and it had been crafted with forgotten sciences and yet the power axe glowed with infernal runes and the shimmer of the Warp surrounded its edge as it effortlessly dissipated the energy field of his own weapon.

"Storm Herald!" bellowed the giant as he swung his axe about in a disembowelling slash, "Long has my axe waited to taste your blood!"

Toran leapt backward out of the way then lashed out in response shouting, "Then it has waited a long time for nothing!"

The battle hung on a knife's edge and there was no telling who would win but then without warning there was a brilliant flash of light outside casting a false dawn on the horizon. The light poured through the hanger's vision slits and etched shadows into the walls with painfully bright clarity, it was followed by an earthquake that shook the ground, making the walls quiver and shake dust from their facings.

The Storm Heralds were given a moment's pause by the unexpected shift and that was all the Traitors needed, in a flash the sorcerer pulled a grey canister from under his robes and flung it outwards as he cried, "Gamma it is time, fall back now!" The brute Toran was duelling didn't hesitate and instantly flung himself backwards, leaving the Sergeant off balance as his foe disappeared.

The grey canister hit the ground between the two lines of foes and shattered to spill a white-green mist into the hanger, it writhed and coiled in a disturbing manner and then it bloomed outwards multiplying itself in a horrendous parody of life. The mist enveloped several of the struggling Astartes and the effects could not have been more pronounced, in seconds the mist ignited their ceramite armour corroding it in a way that millennia of wear could not have achieved. The effect on flesh was far more horrific, hair, teeth and skin caught light, burning away in green flames to expose bone which in turn liquefied under the nightmarish caress of the mist. Three Night Lords and two brothers of Mylos' squad were caught in the cloud and screamed in a way no Astartes should do as they dissolved into putrid slime.

Chaplain Wrethan was on the edge of the blooming mist, still duelling with the sorcerer and the merest wisp of vapour brushed against his chest plate, effortlessly bypassing his rosarius' sacred aura where weapons and sorcery had failed to do so. Wrethan instantly flung himself backwards to clear the mist but it clung to his form, eating through his chestplate and vambraces in a heartbeat and he collapsed to the ground as he struggled to remove his violated plate.

As the mist expanded the two sides were forced apart, backing away from each other with the billowing cloud of vapour forming a moat between them, a dam that did not sit still but continued to expand, seeking more substances to devour. Toran sheathed his sword and ran to the thrashing form of Wrethan, he saw the surviving Chaos Marines gathering round the proud form of their sorcerer as he raised his staff high and chanted some vile litany in a twisted tongue. Toran saw the giant brute he had been duelling turn to look at him and the warrior called, "This isn't over!" then the sorcerer slammed his staff down and in a flash of Warp light the Traitors were all gone.

Toran wasted no time but dashed to Wrethan, who was thrashing in agony on the ground, he saw that the Chaplain's plate was covered in green vapour that had eaten through to gnaw at the flesh beneath. Toran grappled with the armour clasps, releasing them one by one until he could rip the chestplate free and throw it away but then he looked in horror at his own gauntlets, even the most microscopic contact with the mist had contaminated his plate and before his eyes it began smoking and dissolving.

Hurriedly he ripped free his gauntlets and managed to fling them away before the mist touched his skin, watching as the metal corroded into ooze, then he checked Wrethan's vitals finding that he yet lived but had lapsed into blessed unconsciousness. Furion hurried over to them and knelt to scoop Wrethan up under the arms shouting to everybody as he did so, "We have to go right now! For Throne's sake get out here, get out!"

Toran saw the green mist had not stopped expanding and was yet inching closer to them, almost as if attracted by movement so he hurriedly grabbed Wrethan's legs to assist carrying the unconscious Chaplain from the hanger. As they struggled with Wrethan's mutilated form he called, "In the name of the Emperor, what was that foul stuff?"

Furion answered grimly, "Phospex; a horror from the Age of Strife, one that should have been left there."

Toran redoubled his efforts to carry Wrethan out, racing back to the bunker's entrance but just as they reached the gate the situation changed for the earth shook and the building swayed as a mighty wind blew up outside. In one second it became a terrific blast wave of destruction, shattering windows and making the whole building shake dangerously as bits of ground vehicles and airplanes were flung against its thick ferrocrete walls. It only lasted a heartbeat but it made everybody's ears ring and they stumbled like drunks fighting for balance, brother Persion looked up at the shaking roof and said, "What now?"

Furion answered in a horrified voice, "No, no not that, it cannot be that, not now…"

Toran knew all too well what the earlier flash and the terrible wind heralded but part of his mind refused to believe it and he said, "Keep moving, we need to see what is happening."

The Space Marines staggered outside to be greeted by a nightmare made real, by vision of hell. The midnight sky was lit brightly red but not like some tranquil sunset for now the entire horizon was on fire, flames as tall as skyscrapers burning fiercely as far as the eye could see. Far away where the capital city used to stand was only a column of smoke and ash rising above all, lit scarlet from below by a sea of fire. It filled the world as a symbol of utter destruction and miles above their heads it spread out to form the unmistakeable mushroom cloud that could only be produced by an atomonic bomb detonating.

Everybody pulled up short in horror, unable to process what they were seeing and even Toran felt weak at the knees at the sight, he carelessly dropped Wrethan's unconscious form and opened his mouth but no words would come out. He stood there opening and closing his mouth uselessly as the horror swept over him and his world crumbled to ash before him, the realisation creeping up on him that he had made a mistake, they had all made a terrible, tragic mistake.

The silence was broken as Persion started shouting into the vox "Third Company, Third Company come in, come in Third Company! Captain Dassa, Sergeant Nimodes, respond immediately, please respond! Somebody... anybody respond! " but all he got in return was silence.

In his heart Toran knew it was useless, the power of the detonation, even here from miles away, was staggering and the devastation total. The chances of there being any survivors closer to the epicentre were slim indeed and they could not risk staying to look, surely the Traitors must have taken steps to ensure the bulk of their armies survived, undoubtedly they would be ready to attack again. He swallowed his shock and despair, his training and indoctrination letting him shove it into a mental box where it would not impair his ability to function, then he turned to Persion saying, "Brother… Brother."

The Marine did not heed him as he continued with his forlorn calls so Toran drew back one fist and punched Persion right in the helm, shocking him back to the here and now. The Sergeant yelled, "BROTHER PERSION! You must focus… tell me if the Thunderhawk survived or not."

Persion gave him a look of confused bewilderment then his eyes cleared and he nodded before beginning to try raising their transport, after a minute he reported, "They are alive, they were thrown halfway across the sky by the blast wave but those gunships are built to last, they are on their way back to pick us up."

"Tell them to hurry" ordered Toran, "We must return to the Fortress Monastery and prepare."

"Prepare?" said Sergeant Mylos looking confused, "Prepare for what?"

Toran looked at Mylos and his squad, then at Furion's squad and finally he took in his three comrades from First Company.

Toran drew in a breath and said, "The Traitors have struck a terrible blow and they will not hesitate to make their next move, we must fortify the Monastery before they come to finish the job…"

He declared in a voice of doom, "We few are now the only ones left standing in their way."


	10. Chapter 10

**Noctem Oritur: Chapter10**

The primary landing bay was a vast cavern carved into the towering edifices of the Fortress Monastery and insides hundreds of serfs were frantically running to and fro as they dragged fuel bowsers and trolleys of tools towards returning aircraft. For hours now scorched and battered Stormtalons and Stormhawks had been limping home, their engines wheezing and coughing black smoke. They fell hard onto the decking as they returned to the welcome embrace of their fitters and artificers who immediately began spraying them with anti-radiation foam to cleanse their contaminated fuselages.

Close behind the last flight limped a charred Thunderhawk, it was crawling along on one engine and it had lost half a wing making it fly with an awkward sideways gait to compensate. As it made its final approach it lurched disastrously low, almost missing the lintel of the bay but at the last second the pilots poured on power from the remaining engine and it jerked upwards.

Its landing claws hit the decking in a squeal of tortured metal and spat out fat sparks as the weighty gunship ploughed across the floor scattering panicked ground crew everywhere before it came to jerking halt and there it sat coughing black smoke into the air.

Slowly the front ramp ground down but it shuddered to a halt an arm's length off the floor, from the interior walked the armoured silhouettes of Space Marines and at their front was Sergeant Toran. His armour was stained black with ash and his bulky jump pack gave him a hunched appearance but he walked swiftly to the edge of the ramp and hopped down as if nothing was wrong, three squads followed him and formed up in a parade stance.

To a casual observer they would appear proud and confident, walking with precision and discipline but to another transhuman their shock and confusion would be obvious, from the loose way they held their bolters and the dead way they stared ahead without proper focus.

Last of all came Furion, Persion, Halis Paur and Mylos carrying the broken and mutilated form of Chaplain Wrethan on a stretcher, his body was weeping from the terrible injuries wrought upon him but he was not dead yet. Immediately medical teams dashed forwards to take the unconscious Chaplain from them and carted him away on a crash trolley to the Apothecarion in the hopes of saving his life.

From amongst the industrious serfs a red armoured marine broke away and marched over to intercept Toran, he had a large servo arm over one shoulder and the half skull, half cog insignia of the Cult Mechanicus upon his pauldrons: it was Hevostan and he was beside himself with worry. The Techmarine walked up to Toran and said, "Sergeant, we have had word of some calamity befalling the assault, are the rest of the Company behind you?"

Toran slowed to a halt and looked at Hevostan with blank incomprehension and the squads stopped behind him, slowly as if waking up he blinked then shook his head forlornly to show that there were no more coming. Hevostan blurted a screech of binary denial as Toran slowly raised a hand to signal the squads to fall out, they broke up and slouched away each finding a quiet corner to sit and grieve for the lost.

Toran slowly reached up and twisted off his helm to reveal his augmetic eye and show the sorrow etched onto his face, the grief and pain were obvious and it was only his remarkable will that was keeping him on his feet.

Hevostan looked at him and said, "What happened?"

From behind the Sergeant a voice spat, "We got slaughtered, that's what happened."

Toran glanced behind to see Halis Paur sitting on a crate of munitions, his bolter laid across his knees and his helm discarded, the Sergeant was used to his bitter cynicism yet today it had never seemed more appropriate. Toran drew in a breath and said, "The Traitors laid a trap, their assault on the capital was but a lure to draw us out and when we took the bait they detonated an Atomonic bomb right on top of us: Third Company is gone."

"But that leaves you as the highest ranking Storm Herald left on the planet" said Hevostan in disbelief, "How could this happen?"

Toran answered grimly, "I do not know, the assault itself was textbook."

"That was our mistake" retorted Halis, "We were predictable and the Traitors knew what we would do before we did."

"So what now?" asked Hevostan.

Toran said grimly, "Now the Traitors come and take the Fortress Monastery from us, all that is left is to try to find some honourable way to die."

"What's the point?" growled Halis shaking his head, "The traitors outnumber us ten to one and we have only the dregs of the Chapter left, it is pointless to fight on with no chance of making a difference, we should evacuate the gene seed repository and attempt to run the blockade in orbit."

"NO!" rose a sudden voice in opposition, they all looked about in surprise and saw Sergeant Furion marching over, his Mark III armour as dirty as theirs yet somehow still proud underneath. His face was screwed up in fierce defiance and the light of righteous anger burned in his eyes as he barked, "We are Astartes and we do not run from a fight, so long as one Storm Herald yet draws breath this war is not over. If even one of us is still standing then we will fight and if we can fight we can win!"

Toran felt the ashes of his spirit stir at the words and the embers of his pride lit, he looked Furion in the eye and said, "No Chaplain could have said it better, you have reminded us all of the truth, that the Emperor did not make us to rebuff his enemies but to destroy them. Here we stand and we will fight to the last man, sure and confident of ultimate victory."

"Victory?" spat Halis, "Surely you do not think we shall live to see any victory?"

"No, not for ourselves" said Toran, "But our walls are mighty and we yet have brothers to stand upon them, we can bleed the Heretics dry even as they storm our defences and when Chapter Master Gorgall returns to exact vengeance he will find the foe weak and spent."

Halis replied incredulously, "You cannot seriously mean to defend this place with so few men."

Furion barked, "Brother, we may have become accustomed to your wry humours but such talk borders on defeatism and I will not tolerate it in our ranks, we are the Emperor's Space Marines and we shall know no fear."

Halis was admonished by the rebuke and stood to salute in humble contrition, meanwhile Hevostan turned to Toran and said, "Sergeant, there was another matter that arose while you were away..."

"It will have to wait" said Toran as he spied another flight of gunships descending towards the landing bay, this time it was a trio of Stormravens coming in with their vector thrusters spewing downdraft.

A landing pad was hurriedly cleared for the transports and they settled down with far more grace than the earlier gunship's landing. Slowly they lowered themselves to the deck then cut power, coming to rest amid a cloud of steam and their ramps opening to allow the passengers egress.

The waiting crowd held their breath, hoping against hope that it could be survivors of Third Company but it was not the expected shapes of power armoured brethren that emerged but rather scout novices in their half armour. Each of them bore burns and the distinct mottling of radiation damage interacting with their nascent organs, it was a blessing they had already received some of their implants or they would be dead already, then amongst their number emerged the familiar face of Sergeant Nimodes.

He led his scouts from the Stormravens in a messy group, many of them staggering like drunks then he saw the gathering of brothers and jogged over before bowing and making the sign of the Aquilla. Toran had never been so glad to see another person and said, "Nimodes you live!"

The Sergeant raised his head and everybody could see one half of his face bore a vicious flash burn and his speech was slurred as he said, "Barely."

Furion asked with concern, "How did you survive?"

Nimodes replied, "Captain Dassa... he saved us, he found the bomb with moments to spare and transmitted a warning, we were still reconnoitring the outer city miles from the epicentre and I was able to evacuate the scout-novices into the deep sewers before the timer ran out. We made our way out along a storm drain and emerged well outside the ruins, then it was just a matter of getting clear and signalling for evacuation."

"Third Company or any of the Librarians, did they make it?" asked Halis.

"They were all at the epicentre" replied Nimodes, "Not a single one made it out."

Toran looked out over the limping and burned forms of the novices still stumbling out of the transports and he realised that far fewer were coming back than had set forth; he asked "How many of the novices did you get out?"

Nimodes paused to close his eyes and his voice cracked with sorrow as he said, "Not... not enough."

Toran drew himself up and said, "You saved some and that is more than anyone else could have done in your place, your young charges will need you now more than ever before." Nimodes opened his eyes and nodded but before he could reply he was cut off by a sudden commotion at the landing bay entrance. Before the great doors leading further into the Fortress Monastery the serfs were milling about in confusion and backing away from something massive that was forcing its way into the hanger.

Toran frowned and said, "What is that?"

Hevostan answered, "Ah, that would be the other matter I mentioned."

Toran looked over the serf's heads and his jaw dropped for marching through their ranks was a towering machine, twice the height of an Astartes. Its armour was so broad and thick that's its every step made fuel bowsers shake and sent tool trolleys skittering across the deck as terrified serfs parted before its inexorable advance.

One arm was a series of pistons formed into the shape of a great fist and the other was the rotating barrel of a Kheres Assault Canon gleaming with deadly potential. It was unmistakably a dreadnought but no ordinary one, if such a thing could be said of a venerable war machine that held the remains of a warrior who had been held one inch from death for millennia; it was smooth and clean limbed with the precision elegance that could only be found in the Contemptor pattern.

Toran gazed upwards, craning his neck back to stare in wide eyed wonder at the approaching behemoth, for the first time since the catastrophe he felt the spark of hope light in his heart and for a moment he thought that perhaps they yet stood a fighting chance. He stood proudly before the oncoming Dreadnought and said, "Honourable Ajax, how may I assist you?"

The five thousand year old warrior ground to a halt, leaning over to peer at his diminutive brother as he bellowed, "YOU... YOU WILL TELL ME WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON RIGHT NOW."


	11. Chapter 11

**Noctem Oritur: Chapter 11**

Deep in the Fortress Monastery there was a lecture hall, it was a large room with a central dais surrounded by tiers of seats and its roof painted with glorious celebrations of the days Sebastian Thor, the end of the Age of Apostasy and the Founding of the Chapter. The Storm Heralds had commandeered it for a strategy session partly for its egalitarian atmosphere and excellent acoustics but mostly because the Company briefing rooms would have been a painful reminder of how few they now were.

Inside the hall were gathered all the remaining Astartes on the planet, Toran, Furion and Mylos were all stood on the dais to discuss their plans and their respective squads were behind them. Sergeant Nimodes was here too with his novices taking up the bulk of the seating, they were the greatest in terms of numbers but would not measure up to true initiates when battle fell upon them.

Above them in the highest seats were a strange assortment of battle brothers comprised of gunship pilots, tank drivers and the veteran training instructors. This last batch was a curious breed for they were the broken and ruined remnants of forgotten wars, brothers who had been wrecked by a lifetime of combat and deemed unfit for battle. It was not something any initiate liked to talk about but the fact was on rare occasions all the augmetics in the galaxy could not restore a brother to vitality. So they would be given honoured positions training the next generation, honoured maybe but still not a fate any initiate would wish for. Of all those present only this group seemed to be eager to hear the latest news, the old war horses chomping at the prospect of true battle, even if it would prove their last.

Also present was Techmarine Hevostan to speak for the Forgemaster, whose permanent communion with the Machine Spirits made him physically incapable of leaving his forges. Next to him was the Contemptor Ajax who towered over all, he was not speaking and since it was impossible for him to express body language no one could tell if he had been rendered sorrowful or enraged by the doom that had befallen the Chapter.

The last person attending was Chaplain Wrethan, present in spirit if not in body, his injuries had been crippling and he had been confined to the Apothecarion as soon as he had awoken. The Serf-Medicaes had been doubtful he would recover but they had underestimated his sheer will to survive; still they reckoned rebuilding his body would be a process of months at best and he was only able talk via a hololithic projection of his face. This was a major problem for the survivors of the Storm Heralds, Wrethan was the only officer left to them but he was physically unfit and had been relieved of command on medical grounds. The remaining Sergeants had discretely agreed to divide responsibility between themselves but not one of them had enough authority to assume overall command.

The briefing was being run by Sergeant Mylos who had put himself in charge of intelligence gathering, he was highlighting points on a Hololithic projection of Lujan II and saying, "The Traitors have invaded the continent Ka Mua, the largest space port has fallen as have many of the factories and worker habs. The PDF is dug in and fighting hard but they are slowly being overwhelmed, thankfully the Heretics seem more interested in collecting spoils and slaves than pressing forwards. The only saving grace has been the PDF's aquatic vessels, their nautical aircraft carriers have let them launch Thunderbolts and Marauders to contest air superiority but attrition is taking its toll, they can't last forever."

Nimodes raised a hand and pointed to a series of red marks along the coastline saying, "What's that concentration there?"

Mylos replied, "We are not sure, the Traitors have captured many wet docks but they don't seem to be doing anything with them."

"Boats" injected Toran.

"What?" replied Mylos snappishly.

"Ka Mua is a thousand leagues away from here" stated Toran, "Vorshaan needs to get his army across an ocean to reach us, he will need a lot of boats to get them here."

"Why not just deploy from orbit?" asked Wrethan in a weak, thin voice.

Furion had been fortifying the defences and said "The Fortress Monastery's orbital guns are intact, no void ship can approach without being destroyed, not even that abomination of a Flagship."

"So they will have to come by sea, what are we planning in response?" asked Wrethan.

Toran had been running strategic simulations and said, "Our walls are mighty and we have layers upon layers of artillery cannons, rockets, minefields and turbo lasers laid out in four separate and independent quadrants. The best defence will be to put serfs on the Macro canons and hold our Marines back to counter enemy breaching efforts."

Hevostan spoke up saying, "The Forgemaster has agreed to open the armouries and release relic weapons to the defenders, computations show that Plasma and Grav-weapons will prove most effective."

"Wait" injected Nimodes, "This is too predictable, the enemy will be expecting this."

"What do you mean brother?" asked Mylos being notably less brusque than when he addressed Toran.

Nimodes continued, "The Traitors have demonstrated an ability to make meticulous plans and outthink us, we must consider they have a scheme to get past our outer defences somehow."

Toran said, "You suspect Warp magics?"

Furion countered, "We may have lost our Librarians but the Astropaths remain and they have dedicated themselves to barring any Daemonic interference. If that was not enough the Fortress itself is covered in ancient psychic wards, the Warp will not be getting in here anytime soon."

"Never underestimate the threat of the Warp" cautioned Wrethan, "But even without that we have to assume the enemy will get into the Fortress sooner or later."

"Then we fight them room to room" said Nimodes, "Make them bleed for every metre they advance."

This garnered nods of approval from the training instructors but Toran countered, "We don't have the numbers for that kind of fight."

Nimodes replied, "We do if we arm the serfs, even discounting the women and children we have ten thousand able bodied men ready and willing to fight under us."

Toran was stunned by that statement, he had discounted the serfs as anything more than operators of wall guns and support systems, the idea of using them as an army had not occurred to him. Then something tugged at his mind and he said, "Wait... we have women and children in the Monastery?"

Nimodes' lip twitched lifting his grief for a second as he said, "Where do you think new serfs come from, you didn't think they were all failed aspirants did you?"

Mylos dragged the conversation back on track saying, "You are all assuming the enemy will get here unopposed but we should not surrender the initiative, we should take our remaining gunships and board the Traitor's boats as they cross the ocean."

The drivers and pilots murmured in agreement but Furion rebuked, "We cannot risk what little strength we have left on gambles."

Mylos declared, "You sit here and wait if you want to, I will take my squad and send half the enemy to the briny deep."

Furion said, "We cannot divide our numbers now, we must concentrate what little strength we have left and fight where we know we can hold them."

Toran could see this descending into an argument but knew they could not suffer discord right now, he spoke up saying, "Brothers you are both right, your tactics are equally sound but we cannot afford to do both."

Nimodes spoke up saying, "Then put it to a vote, let everyone present have a say in how we proceed from here."

There was a sudden rumble and for the first time Ajax's voxcaster burst into life saying, "THIS IS NOT GOING TO WORK."

Wrethan said, "Honoured ancient, you have something to add?"

The Dreadnought boomed, "YOU CANNOT RUN A WAR BY COMMITTEE AND A HOUSE DIVIDED CANNOT STAND, WE WILL NOT HOLD IF WE ACT LIKE A GAGGLE OF MISMATCHED SQUADS."

Everybody's attention was rapt upon the venerable war machine as he continued, "A BATTLE COMPANY MUST BE FORGED BY ONE HAND, IT MUST BE COMMANDED BY ONE VOICE AND HAVE ONE WILL TO LEAD IT."

Toran was relieved someone was stepping up to lead and declared, "He speaks with the wisdom of the ages, we must all stand behind Ajax as our commander."

"NO" said Ajax, "THE LIVING SHOULD BE LED BY THE LIVING."

Furion spoke up to say, "But there is precedent for a Dreadnought leading a defence of a Chapter's home, at the first battle of the Fang the Space Wolves…"

Ajax overrode him booming, "SPEAK NOT TO ME OF THOSE CANINE LOVING BARBARIANS, BJORN IS AN INSUFFERABLE KNAVE AND YOU WILL NOT COMPARE ME TO THAT THUG."

Toran frowned; it was hard to tell without any body language but Ajax actually seemed irritated, almost like there was some personal history there, the Sergeant spoke up to say, "If not you then who?"

Ajax rumbled around on his waist gimbal and said, "YOU WILL ASSUME COMMAND."

Toran's jaw dropped in surprise and he really did not know how to respond, on the one hand to be an officer was the dream of every rank and file brother but on the other how could he stand above men he had lived and fought beside for decades. He saw the way everybody was looking at him, expressions ranging from satisfied agreement to resentment and scorn, Mylos in particular looked outraged as he barked, "Him, you would make him a Commander?!"

Furion countered by proclaiming to the room, "He bears the Sword of Thiel."

Toran's ambivalence collapsed into stunned disbelief as he realised that no one wanted him for his personal qualities, laurels or skills they only wanted him because he held that blasted sword. He gritted his teeth and decided he did not want the role for such shallow reasons; he wanted to earn it through merit or not at all.

Toran declared, "I am honoured to be considered but I am unworthy of such a role, Chapter Master Gorgall himself has proclaimed I am not ready for such a position. Perhaps someone with more experience should lead… Nimodes is the most senior Sergeant here."

Ajax overruled him though, "DO YOU THINK ANY LEADER FEELS READY WHEN THE CALL FIRST COMES?"

Wrethan interrupted to wheeze, "Ajax is more right than he knows, we cannot hold without a clear leader to unite us… A brother-commander may be first among equals but what we need right now is one leader with the unquestionable authority to command all."

Before anyone could object he drew in a rasping breath and said, "By the authority invested in me by the Council of Masters and the Divine God-Emperor… I hereby invest Brother Toran with all the rights and privileges due to the rank of Acting-Captain."


	12. Chapter 12

**Noctem Oritur: Chapter12**

The ocean was as black as ink, lazily cresting and bowing under the starry sky in a dance as old as time itself. The scene would have been instantly recognisable to Terra's most ancient seafarers, not that were any of those left since the seas had been drained dry by the thirsty Hive cities.

Crashing through the waves were a series of metal shapes, they were long hulls bristling with gun batteries and missile launchers, their tall towers shimmering with the aura of void shield projectors and their flanks stamped with Imperial Aquillas. Aquatic boats were exceedingly rare in an Imperium founded upon spaceflight yet on the handful of worlds dominated by oceans they had proved essential and thus the Mechanicus had retained their patterns.

On Lujan II this flotilla represented the greatest concentration of military power outside the Space Marines' purview and so it was the last line of defence for the mortal citizenry of the planet. At the very centre of the flotilla was the 'Arca Imperator', it was an aircraft carrier massing over two hundred and fifty thousand tons, boasting two parallel runways crowning its flanks upon which Thunderbolt fighters and Marauder bombers were being readied for combat. The PDF squadrons had been running constant sorties, flying into brutal combat over and over as they tried to resist the invading armies of Chaos. The pilots were bleary eyed and some had to be carried from their cockpits by the ground crews but time and time again they would strap themselves in and hurl themselves back into the sky, desperate to defend their world and their people.

Down the centre of the vessel ran a series of ridged domes surrounded by the distinct aura of void shield generators running hot as they struggled to keep the boat safe. The flotilla had suffered repeated orbital barrages since the invasion began but between Arca Imperator and her companions they generated a shield equal to a hive city's and so far it had held firm. This was not the only the only layer of defence for the flotilla boasted boats with heavy guns and missile arrays, anti-air batteries of shell and Las not to mention underwater torpedoes and depth charges. Several attacks by squadrons of Swiftdeath fighters and Doomfire bombers had been seen off in short order and the flotilla had quickly advanced itself from being an annoying nuisance to genuine threat in the eyes of the Traitors.

Deep within the Arca Imperator there was a more esoteric layer of defence, in a large room that was really more of a tripled barred and reinforced metal box, three Imperial sanctioned psykers were kneeling in a circle. Their eyes were closed as they bowed their heads in concentration; they were clasping hands as they swayed to and fro, foreheads dripping sweat as they focussed their eldritch powers on denying psychic attacks on the flotilla.

The Psykers were surrounded by a ring of men, wearing matt black uniforms who watched the trio with hate filled eyes just waiting for the first hint of corruption. They were armed with shotguns loaded with inert obsidian buckshot; bolt pistols carved with runes of aversion and spiked null collars on long poles, when it came to Psykers the Imperium did not believe in taking chances. As if that were not enough the guards had carved the walls with hexagrammatic wards formed of blessed silver.

Sadly all these preparations would prove futile for they had no idea what was coming for them.

Abruptly and without the slightest warning all three psykers threw back their heads and howled in screeching agony, their eyes opening as the unlight of the Warp poured out to give the air a greasy, unclean taste. The guards did not hesitate at all but brought up their guns with fingers already tightening on triggers as catechisms of abjuration formed on their lips, unfortunately they did not get to complete the action for suddenly they all froze still, all of them all at once.

The guard's eyes darted to and fro in desperation but they could not control any other muscle, none at all not even their lungs and they stood slowly suffocating in a room full of air as ice began to crystallise on the walls and frost ran up their legs. The dying guards were forced to watch as the Psykers arched inhumanly, screaming in agony as their bones snapped and reconfigured to stretch their bodies up and outwards to creating a living archway in the centre of the room. Underneath that archway billowing black clouds condescend into being filling the space like a rippling veil of pure midnight, the veil bulged and swelled for a moment and then an armoured boot stepped through into the room bringing with it a transhuman warrior. He was clad in brilliant blue platedecorated with secret sigils and arcane embelms, at his waist hung a thick book and his helm bore two golden crests that touched above his head.

He stepped outwards into the room and looked about in satisfaction, then he stepped aside as more warriors came spilling through the archway, the first out was the brute Gamma who was swiftly followed by the Sorcerer Beta. They were followed by two dozen Chaos Marines each one bearing a bulky jump pack and walking awkwardly on their Raptors Claws. They immediately spread out and filled the room, stepping around the ashen guards who had all suffocated to death yet still stood exactly where they had been caught, like flies in amber.

Beta waited until the room was secured then said, "Well done Yuikai, I confess I didn't think you could do it."

The Thousand Son replied, "The path to knowledge cannot be denied."

Beta nodded in seeming humility, carefully guarding his thoughts lest his scorn become apparent to the Magi, then he turned to the waiting Raptor squads and said, "Secure this boat then boost over to the others, take the hulls intact but do as you will with the crew. Gamma the bridge is yours, go do what you do best."

The Chaos Marines kicked down the reinforced doors with ease, pouring out into the Arca Imperator and immediately the thin wails of mortal screams echoed forth as they found the helpless crew. Yuikai went to run out the door but Beta held out his staff to block his way saying, "Give them a minute, I haven't survived for ten thousand years by charging through doors until I know the other side is secured."

Yuikai sank back and eyed his compatriot saying, "Typical Alpha Legion, you just can't help but being deceitful can you, I wonder if you are capable of even walking in a straight line."

Beta sounded nonchalant and he replied, "Each to their own, our ways get us what we want."

Yuikai crossed his arms and said, "And what is it you want?"

Beta answered and his smile was evident in his voice as he said, "Victory."

"Don't give me that" countered Yuikai, "You don't follow Vorshaan because he is some great warlord; no you are after something else..."

Beta smiled in enjoyment of this game of words and stated, "Magnus has no need of slaves or spoils, which might cause me to wonder what he has sent you here to fetch for him."

Yuikai replied "Why don't we pretend we've done our little dance and both come to the conclusion that we are not dragging the truth out of each other."

Beta nodded and changed the subject saying, "That warp gate, it was very well done but I have to ask how you bypassed the wards?"

"This?" said Yuikai looking around the interior of the chamber, "I crap better magic than this amateur hocus-pocus."

He lazily waved one hand and all the silver in the walls instantly melted, running to puddle in the floor, Beta tried not to stare in amazement for he himself had found the wards annoyingly obstinate. Yet in a sealed corner of his mind Beta felt smug satisfaction, he had known that the XVth Legion had never been able to resist showing off their power and it had taken little goading to provoke the Magi. Though he did not know it Yuikai had just given away an important card in the great game and Beta was already revising his strategies should he need to kill the Magi as some future point.

Beta decided not to push his luck and said, "I think we've given the butchers long enough, let us move."

Yuikai nodded and they emerged into the hallway outside to find a slaughterhouse, bits of bodies were strewn everywhere, the walls dripping blood and even more unspeakable substances. The two sorcerers strolled along the corridor as if they were out for an afternoon's constitutional and stepped over cooling corpses with no regard at all; they had both seen and done far worse things after all.

Still Yuikai could not help but say, "Your brute works fast for a simpleton."

Beta quipped as he walked, "We only required a strong right arm, brains were an optional extra."

The pair of Sorcerers pressed onwards passing over piles of dead crew in ever growing numbers, then they began climbing as they headed upwards towards the flying bridge. Here at last there was real resistance and they found the first Chaos Marine body, a Raptor laying at the bottom of a stairwell its armour riddled with hundreds of lasgun shots, enough to bring down even an Astartes.

They gave the body no regard and continued on their path until at last they came to the bridge and here they found some surviving crew, surviving but not fighting anymore, not with Raptors holding them down and flaying them alive. There was one man left on his feet, an officer with a ridiculous number of gold medals jangling on his chest, who laid about with a shining sword as he fought for his life. Opposing him was Gamma, hacking and parrying with his axe, the cursed runes shimmering with an evil light as they brought the power of the Warp forth to counter the sword's energy field. The pair danced back and forth in an epic duel such as poets would have written of and children refought in scholams for generations, it was man against monster, Imperial hero against base Heretic with the fate of a world in the balance. Beta however merely rolled his eyes at the sight and called, "Gamma, what have I told you about toying with your prey!"

The brute growled in frustration then gathered his strength and swept his axe across in one titanic blow, the shining sword shattering under the force of the impact. Before the officer could react his head parted from his shoulders and was sent flying to bounce off an armour glass window, silence fell and Gamma glared at the latecomers before snarling, "You missed the fight."

Beta replied, "I was confident you could manage on your own, now get this dinghy secured then send the rest of the squads over to the other boats, I want this whole flotilla under our control before the planet's rotation bring the storms upon us."

"Ridiculous planet" muttered Yuikai as the Chaos Marines piled out of the bridge, "Still the meteorology is fascinating, I would love to study how it resonates within the Warp."

"You do that" retorted Beta, "Meanwhile I have to go signal Vorshaan and tell him it is safe to come down from orbit, the way to the Storm Herald's home is open and nothing now stands in our way."


	13. Chapter 13

**Noctem Oritur: Chapter 13**

The arming chamber was a place of reverence and tradition, wizened serfs and artificers following prescriptions laid down thousands of years before as they readied the armour of their transhuman masters. Each plate would be lifted into place with loving devotion while apprentices paced the room in purple chasubles, sprinkling sacred incense everywhere and chanted ancient hymns of blessing.

Standing in the midst of the chamber was Acting-Captain Toran, he was stood with his arms outstretched as his battle plate was removed and replaced piece by piece with attire more appropriate to his new rank. His demenour was stoic and unwavering but he was not looking at the artificers as they reverently laboured on his wargear, instead he was looking at the Sergeants making their reports.

No, they were HIS sergeants now.

Standing at the edge of the room so as not to interfere were Furion, Nimodes and Mylos, they were reporting on the latest developments in the war. Currently speaking was Mylos, he had been outraged by Toran's promotion but he was disciplined enough to act professionally. He describing the situation outside the Monastery with great detail, it was easy to forget but Mylos was a skilled and experienced sergeant, it was just a shame he had such a great personal dislike for Toran.

Mylos was saying, "The aquatic fleet has fallen, the Traitors used foul warp magic to board and then overran them in hours, without their air support Ka Mua is falling. The PDF is trying to hold out but they are a spent force, nothing is stopping the Heretics seizing countless slaves and ransacking all the spoils they can seize."

Toran replied, "We do not have the forces to contest them in the open but Vorshaan will not dally there for long, he knows he must break us in our home, he will be coming here." Mylos stated "There at least we have a some good fortune, the Emperor's Storm bears down upon their position, they must wait for it to pass before they can load their armies onto the boats. Then they have a thousand leagues to sail before they reach us."

Toran nodded causing him to shift position which earned a scowl from a wizened artificer who, uncaring for his rank, slapped a bare leg in rebuke. Toran ignored the venerable artisan and said "Then we have a little time to reorganise the ranks and prepare for a siege." Mylos frowned and said, "I still say our best option is to strike at them as they cross the ocean, those boats will be vulnerable and we could wreck terrible damage."

Toran replied, "I will take that under advisement, now Furion how is the serf milita faring?" Furion answered, "As well as can be expected, they are mortals not Transhuman after all, still I thank the Emperor that tradition demands every able bodied man undertake an annual course of basic training so they at least know one end of a lasgun from another. Regrettably the Forgemaster was reluctant to issue heavy weapons to mere mortals but Ajax stormed down there to 'explain matters' to him, now the servitor trains are burning themselves out trying to keep up with the deliveries coming from the Forges."

Furion drew in a breath and continued, "Unfortunately teaching the serfs manoeuvres is another matter entirely, they are months away from being able to even march in a straight line let alone perform complex redeployments under fire." Toran replied, "Siege warfare is a direct matter, if you can teach them to hold a barricade and fall back to the next chokepoint on command then I don't think we need to expect much more from them." Furion nodded saying, "Stand, shoot, run I think they can manage that."

Toran said, "Good, now Nimodes how are the novices?" Sergeant Nimodes still bore signs of grief on his face but answered, "They are shocked and stunned, their hypno indoctrination is still a work in progress and they struggle to come to terms with their losses but I will not let them wallow in grief, hard drills and constant practice will whip them into shape."

Toran asked, "Are any of the novices ready for ascension?"Nimodes looked surprised and said, "What?"

Toran sighed, "We desperately need more initiates, even a few more bolters on the line could make a real difference." Nimodes chewed his lip for a moment before saying, "Well... maybe a handful could take on their Black Carapaces but there will barely be time for the implants to harden before the siege begins and even then the rookies will be awfully green."

Toran remarked, "Don't worry I have a few ideas on that front, now is there anything else?"Furion replied, "We've done all we can for now, what we lack is a battleplan… what are your orders?" The words cast Toran's mind back and he recalled a conversation he had had only a few hours before…

 _The Medicae suite was filled with beeping and humming devices, taking tainted blood and running it through filters and pumps before injecting it back into the patient. Laying on a gurney was the mutilated body of Chaplain Wrethan, his scars were terrible to behold but his gaze had lost none of its fire._

 _The sawbones doubted he would ever walk again but Toran knew Wrethan would not let a little thing like crippling injuries keep him down for long and he needed to speak to the Chaplain. Toran desperately needed to seek his spiritual advice and make a confession, something he could not say in front of any of the men._

 _Toran addressed the wounded Chaplain, "Father, why did you chose me for this role?"_

 _Wrethan's voice was thin and ready but still he said, "Frankly because you were all we had, none of the other sergeants were suitable, too bitter, too grief stricken or too friendly for the role."_

" _Friendly?" asked Toran dancing around the real issue._

 _Wrethan scowled, "A Captain cannot be a friend to his subordinates, you must be ready for the day when to save many you must order some to certain death. Comrades the men have to spare, what they will need is leadership, someone to direct them to victory."_

 _Toran bit back the truth he wanted to confess and instead he said, "Father, I have been scouring the Codex for answers but the passages are brutal in their assessment of our situation, Halis was right: we cannot hold without more Marines."_

" _Then you must find some" said Wrethan._

" _How do I do that?" asked Toran._

" _Did you expect the answers to come easily?" said Wrethan, "Do you think no Captain before you has ever struggled to find a way out of an impossible situation?"_

 _Toran could not hold back his confession any longer and blurted out, "I don't know what to do!"_

" _And admitting that is the first mistake any Captain can make" replied Wrethan sternly, "A Captain must be a terrible thing in the minds of his men; stern, unyielding and confident of purpose; you no longer have the luxury of appearing uncertain."_

 _Toran protested, "But everyone is looking at me as if I have some wonderful plan tucked away behind my back, they expect me to do the impossible."_

 _Wrethan consoled him, "Forget trying to come up with clever strategies and cunning tactics, the best advice I can give you is to trust in your men, more wars than you can imagine have been won by a humble battle brother armed with nothing else than a bolter and courage in his heart. But that brother can only be courageous if he believes he is part of a bigger plan, if he believes his Captain sees the path to victory."_

 _Toran frowned "So I should just pretend that I know what I am doing and hope for a miracle?"_

" _Now you sound like Halis, it does not suit you" said Wrethan with a scowl, "No what you must do is surrounded yourself with the glorious icons and symbols of rank for they are not displayed out of vanity or pride, not if you use them to inspire your men. If you can forge the men into one company and fill their hearts with the spirit of heroes then all that is left is to trust in them and they will repay you with victory."_

 _Wrethan elaborated, "You must use everything you have got and hold nothing back, do not hesitate to exploit every advantage available and take any edge you can get. Your reputation can be a weapon if wielded properly, yes even the legacy of that sword you resent so much is but another weapon in your arsenal: do not hate it, use it."_

" _Thank you Father Wrethan" said Toran already trying to think of ways to make best use of the Marines he had._ " _Oh and one more thing" said Wrethan before the new Captain could leave, "Get yourself to an arming chamber and change your wargear."_

" _What do you mean?" asked Toran bewildered._ _Wrethan gestured at Toran's battered and worn power armour saying, "You look like a lowly rookie back from his first deployment, if you are going to act like a Captain you must first look the part."_

Toran was shook out of his reveries as the artificers clapped their hands and stepped back, he felt his new battle plate surge to life around him and stepped forwards as he lowered his arms. His battered plate, which he had worn for so long had been replaced by a suit of artificer armour, glorious in its blue and grey colours. He now wore a golden chain of rank across his chest leading up to a large badge over his heart which depicted the Chapter's symbol and behind his head was an Iron Halo shaped into the form of a double headed eagle, spreading its wings over him.

His backpack now boasted a large banner pole from which hung a golden Aquilla upon a field of red and down his back was a red cloak sewn with purity seals in the corners. Finally his trusty old bolt pistol had been replaced with a master crafted bolter and from his waist hung the Sword of Thiel in a thick scabbard woven with liturgies praising Him on Terra.

Toran stood proudly in his new wargear and his augmetic eye burned fiercely as he said, "Well?" Furion looked him up and down approvingly and said, "Sir, I think you look like a Captain… now about those orders?"

Toran nodded and ordered, "Nimodes keep working on the novices while Mylos goes to find Lorath, Zeax and Priyar, bring them to the lecture hall in six hours and I will lay out their roles in the coming battle."

He concluded by saying "But first I want Furion to bring Pyrus squad to me, I have a special assignment for them."


	14. Chapter 14

**Noctem Oritur: Chapter14**

The lecture hall was practically deserted, the rows of seats were empty while the dais held only Acting-Captain Toran who was stood proudly in his new armour as he conversed with a pair of serf's, they were each carrying large wooden boxes tightly to their chests as he explained their roles in the next few minutes. He was interrupted by the emergence of Sergeant Furion into the room swiftly followed by six Space Marines Toran knew like the back of his hand, Persion, Novak, Jediah, Daite, Bylan, and Halis Paur each one coming in with their helms off to show their faces.

The members of Pyrus squad marched up to Toran and formed themselves into a parade perfect line as Furion barked, "Reporting as ordered Captain!"

Toran felt uncomfortable with the way they stood waiting for him, as if he were somehow better than they were and said, "Stand at ease." As they settled down Toran came off the dais and walked up and down their line, noting the chips and gouges to their plate that spoke of the heavy fighting they had seen, their faces were carefully blank but he could sense the curiosity burning in them regardless.

Finally he stopped and said, "Pyrus squad you know me, we have fought and bled together countless times and I know your hearts are proud and relentless. Still the task before us is monumental, the Traitor's armies sail towards us even now and we must be ready to face them. I have been appointed as your Captain and as such it is my responsibility to make sure we are ready, to hone what can be honed and eliminate any weaknesses in our defence."

Pyrus squad was looking at him uncertainly now, not knowing where he was going as he continued, "Our first order of business is to establish an effective chain of command, towards that end I have been consulting with Chaplain Wrethan and he recommends that I surround myself with symbols of authority and rank." Then he paused to smile as he said, "For this reason I have decided that in the coming battles you shall all fight at my side as a Command Squad."

Every single jaw dropped open in shock at the pronouncement as the words sank in and the surprise stole their speech, Daite was the first to recover and blurted out, "But what about your First Company brothers?"

Toran answered, "Lorath, Zeax and Priyar have their own roles to play, I will need them to act with great independence in the days to come but there are no brothers I would rather have watching my back than you."

The squad were glancing at each other now, expressions ranging from shock to elation and in Bylan's case absolute awe at the thought of fighting alongside his personal hero once more. Toran quickly moved on saying, "This is not favouritism for I expect each of you to perform above and beyond what you have given before, to fight harder and longer than you ever thought possible. In addition you will each undertake new duties outside the remit of your former posts; you have little training in this regard but you are all I have got so I expect you to rise to the occasion."

He faced Furion and declared, "Sergeant I need you to keep drilling the serf militias, drive them hard for the enemy will show no mercy, be firm if you have to but know that the tougher you are now the more of them will live through this."

Furion replied, "Don't worry sir, by the time I am done they will all hate my guts."

Toran nodded then addressed Jediah, who was typically sullen and said, "Jediah, I need you to work on teaching the serfs how to fight, Furion can teach them how to find the courage to hold a line and shoot straight under fire but you will show them how to kill. They need to be ready for the carnage of melee fighting, start by showing them the basics of using a bayonet."

Jediah nodded and said in an utterly deadpan manner, "I'll tell them what you do is stick the pointy end into the other guy."

Toran tried to keep a grin off his face as he moved on to Persion saying, "Brother I need you to harden our lines of communication, currently everything runs through the Fortress Monastery's vox net, we have to assume it will fall in the battle and make sure to include the serfs in your revisions."

Persion nodded and said, "I can do that."

Next Toran faced Daite, a strange Astartes what with his gleaming augmetic arms and habit of having visionary revelations, the Captain said, "Our schematics of the Fortress Monastery are woefully out of date, especially in the areas where initiates do not routinely go, I want you update our charts and go through them with a microscope. Find me chokepoints, blocked corridors, areas fit for deadfalls, traps and cave-ins then I want you to physically go to those places and survey them with your own two eyes, I want this place to be a deathtrap before the enemy even sets foot on dry land. Oh and if you have any revelations at all speak up, now is not the time for silence."

Daite saluted with a metal fist over his heart and said, "You can count on me Sir."

The Captain nodded and stepped along but before he could speak Halis Paur spoke up saying, "Sir, I volunteer to supervise the preparations of the wall guns."

Toran overlooked the impudence and nodded in agreement replying, "Very well, you have the perfect mind-set to spot deficiencies in the line anyway."

Next in the line was Bylan with his rebuilt lungs and adoration of his hero, Toran swallowed his distaste for what he was about to do and faced the initiate saying, "Bylan for you I have a special task."

Bylan responded in a mechanical wheeze, "+Master, I stand ready to serve+"

As he said that one of the serfs stepped forward and presented a thin wooden box, as tall as a grown man, Toran flipped open the case and from it drew forth a gleaming adamantium shaft crowned with a spiked star haloing a human skull. He moved his hand to extend a cross bar and from it unfurled a long banner; it was storm cloud grey and boasted the spiral in a starburst that was the Chapter's emblem. Its borders were woven with names of famous victories and icons sacred to the Storm Heralds were emblazoned across it creating a liturgy of triumph.

Toran held the banner out it to Bylan saying. "This is the banner of Third Company, Captain Dassa did not see fit to use it but I claim it for our brotherhood, it has flown in countless battles and been present at more victories than can be named in single day. The very greatest and sternest veterans have held it aloft in triumph and ignominy alike and not once has it fallen upon the ground, not once: now I present it to you with faith that you shall uphold that glorious tradition."

Bylan's hand shook as he reached out; it actually shook as his face filled with sheer awe and wonder. He declared, "+I shall not fail you Master, my hearts shall to cease to beat before this banner falls, this I swear upon my lifeblood.+"

Toran placed in in his grip and declared, "Fly it high for all to see when the battle rages" but inside he felt like an absolute heel for he knew that he was exploiting Bylan's hero worship to serve his own ends. He knew in truth that he was using the initiate as he would any bolter or a blade, still Chaplain Wrethan had told him to utilise every advantage he could get and he could see no other way to make this work.

Before this thoughts became apparent Toran stepped on to the last brother seeing Novak standing with his cocky grin on his face, the captain waved the last serf forwards and took the box from him then he opened it pronouncing, "This is for you."

Novak looked inside and gasped as he cried, "Your old power sword, the one you took off that Inquisitor!"

Toran nodded and said, "Did you think I had forgotten about it, no I kept it safe and now I expect you wield it as my company champion."

Novak didn't wait for moment but eagerly snatched up the blade and spun about to give it an experimental swing in a figure of eight, the air sang as the deactivated metal whirled around him then he pirouetted back and blurted, "Nice edge and well balanced but it needs a name, what did you call it?"

Everybody audibly groaned at Novak's typically glib impudence and Toran, "It is a weapon, I called it my sword."

Novak frowned and remarked "A good sword needs a name, I must think of something worthy."

Toran resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he remembered exactly why Novak had not been elevated out of the Reserve companies; his glib flippancy was his weakness. Still the Captain could tolerate a loose tongue in exchange for the lethal and deadly skill with a blade that he knew his brother possessed.

Toran rebuked him, "Name it later, now the rest of you to your new duties."

Furion stepped forwards and barked, "Pyrus Command Squad: Dismissed!"

With that the line broke up and brothers gathered round in a group as they head out, clapping each other on the backs and loudly congratulating themselves, as they walked the serfs followed them one of the pair was trying to put the banner back in its case: Bylan however was having none of it and stubbornly refused to let go as they walked out. Yet Furion held back and waited until they had left then he addressed his Captain and softly said, "Permission to speak freely Sir."

Toran replied, "For you, always."

Furion stated, "With respect sir two things, firstly you are the Captain now, I must always ask for permission and secondly I see what you are trying to do and it will not work."

Toran was shocked to hear that and said, "What do you mean?"

Furion explained, "You are trying to lay the foundations for a new Battle Company to rise out of the ashes and dregs we currently have but you forget that one cannot build anything on a flawed foundation, you cannot lead with a deadweight hanging around your neck."

"What flaw?" demanded Toran testily.

Furion said frankly, "Your relationship with Sergeant Mylos."

"Oh… that" said Toran,

Furion continued, "Your feud with Mylos is a liability, one we can no longer afford, you must deal with it sooner rather than later."

"I have tried" said Toran, "He just cannot get over the fact that his twin died to save me, I have tried to heal the rift between us but he will not accept it."

"Yes I have seen your attempts" remarked Furion, "You have explained to him why it is not your fault and why he should not blame you... but have you ever considered saying you were sorry?"

Now Toran was truly shocked, he never thought he would hear those words from a Space Marine and said, "You think I should apologise?!"

Furion shook his head and said "I do not mean that you did anything wrong but Mylos was injured that day too and you have never expressed any regret for how that played out."

This was so far outside the remit of Toran's training and experience that he had no baseline for how to respond and so he fell back on saying, "I am his Captain now, how can I say such a thing to a subordinate?"

Furion answered, "Then as Captain you have to decide what is more important, your pride or the lives of your men."

He concluded "You cannot have both."


	15. Chapter 15

**Noctem Oritur: Chapter 15**

Under a blazing sun a vast flotilla of boats was sailing across the waves, most them were scows, tankers, noble's pleasure yachts and deep sea trawlers but today they had all been repurposed as troop ships. The convoy moved across the ocean at a brisk pace and the line of boats stretched as far as the eye could see, leaving a dirty wake of spilled fuel, sewage and other more foul substances in its wake.

At the head of the convoy moved the Arca Imperator, its once proud flanks now defiled and covered with icons of the Dark Gods while its runways carried the despised shapes of Hell-blade fighters and Hell-talon bombers. Along its gunwales hung lines of naked corpses, the former crew who had been stripped and flayed before being dangled over the side, the drips of bodily fluids were attracting oceanic predators which made the sea thrash and churned as the convoy passed. Fresh prisoners were being thrown over the sides and the new crew of the lost and the damned laughed to see them struggling to stay afloat even as monsters of the deep circled in to feed.

High above on the flying bridge crews of mutants busied themselves tending to the violated machine spirits, not seeking to soothe them as Tech-Priests would but breaking them with fierce override protocols and scrapcode infections. Meanwhile three Transhumans were overseeing the whole operation, chief among them was Vorshaan who was standing with his arms crossed and his wings folded behind his back, he was scowling at the distant horizon where the last smudges of the Emperor's Storm were fading into the distance but knowing it would inevitably return.

He drew in a breath and declared, "Warp take this planet and its ridiculous weather, that infernal tempest cost us precious time, two whole days wasted waiting for it to pass when we could have been setting sail."

Behind him Beta sauntered over and said, "The delay was accounted for in our timetable, we are on schedule and nothing now stands between us and the Storm Herald's Fortress Monastery."

Vorshaan snarled, "We still have a long way to go and by the time we get there the planet will have turned again, we will barely have a couple of Terran days to overcome the outer defences before it hits."

Beta bowed and said, "I assure you lord all is in readiness, we know what we are doing, the armies will all be inside the fortress long before the storm comes round again."

"You had better be right" barked Vorshaan.

"I am my Lord" replied Beta, "Trust me."

"Trust you?!" laughed Vorshaan, "I trust that you know the torments that await you if this plan fails, your death will make Daemons pause and slink away in fear."

Beta concealed his disdain for the Dusk Prince's crude threats and said, "We have planned this attack for nigh on a century, it will not fail now."

From the other side of the bridge Gamma snarled, "Can't these scows go any faster?"

"Patience" rebuked Beta, "We will get there when we get there."

Gamma growled, "I want to find that dog with the shiny sword and take him apart piece by piece, no one faces me in battle and lives to tell of it."

Vorshaan smirked and remarked, "Are you sure you trained him yourself Beta, the more I hear him speak the more I think one of Angron's mob snuck in when you weren't looking."

Beta however wasn't listening, he was looking at the back of bridge and said, "My lord I think you had better see this."

Vorshaan glanced behind him and saw more Chaos Marines entering the room; it was the four Warlords who were fighting under his banner. They crammed into the bridge as mutants scattered before them and they all looked distinctly displeased to be forced to be sharing one cause, let alone one room: whatever reason they had for coming here must have been pressing indeed.

Vorshaan faced them and purred with condescension dripping off every syllable, "Welcome my friends."

The first to speak was Jubila who had fresh skins draped across the spikes of his armour, "Do not call us that, we have come to tell you that we have had enough of this war!"

Vorshaan grinned, knowing that they had all come too far to turn back now and said sarcastically, "Oh dear, is something not your liking?"

Killorn was dripping vile fluids from cracks in his armour that stained the floor and bubbled, "It seems that we have done all the fighting while you cowered in orbit."

Vorshaan replied, "And yet my brilliant strategy saw an entire loyalist company wiped out without losing a single one of our Astartes."

Jubila snarled, "At the cost of thousands of OUR cultists."

Vorshaan stared at him and said, "Don't tell me you actually cared about them?"

Jubila grinned at the shared joke and replied, "Of course not, I would feed all of them to the fleshhounds if I thought it would provide a moment's amusement but it's the principle of the thing, we are the ones doing all the work while you hide."

"Really?" said Vorshaan, "I am the one who laboured for ten millennia to resurrect my flagship, I am the one who spent a hundred years planning this assault and I am the one who filled your holds with slaves and spoils. Once we are done here you will have enough gear to sustain your warbands for centuries to come."

The tirade was interrupted as Thessus spoke up, his brazen armour covered with fresh gore and coagulating fluids, "Blood... must have blood."

Vorshaan nodded and said, "There will be blood aplenty once we arrive, until then we have holds bursting with prisoners, enough to slake even your thirst... well for a few days."

Killorn bubbled again, "You presume much Prince of the Dusk, oh yes I know why they call you that, I know how the other Night Lords laughed at your failures."

"No one laughs at me now, they are dead and yet I live, I lived because I used my brains not my fists!" Vorshaan barked angrily, "Think for a moment of what happens when we destroy this Fortress, the rest of their pathetic Chapter will come rushing back to seek vengeance and when their fleet arrives it will be me and my flagship that faces them in open space. One of two things will happen: either they rush forwards to be broken on my guns or they run like cowards, left to wither on the vine without their precious gene-seed reserve."

He drew in a breath and continued, "But think beyond that, think what happens when word spreads that we have annihilated an entire Chapter, think of the hordes who will flock to fight under your banners, think of the power we will all wield. Each of us will be lords of our own crusade hosts, free to pillage with no one able to stop us."

The warlords were given pause but it was Yuikai who spoke up, his army was the smallest being barely a squad of Rubicae in addition to his cultists but the ethereal power he wielded made him mighty, "Fine words but we still have to break a Fortress Monastery, one of the great bastions of the False Emperor, if you think to waste our armies on their ramparts so you can walk in unmolested you are sadly mistaken."

Vorshaan's grin widened to show black teeth as he said, "All is in good hands, believe me I know what I am doing but if that is not enough let me reassure you I will be at the head of the assault. If it makes you feel better I will even be the first to set foot on dry land, now no more interruptions Beta and Gamma will go find some amusements for you while we continue our journey."

The Warlords seemed satisfied, knowing Vorshaan would be at the forefront of the coming assault and let the pair of underlings lead them out, all but one for Yuikai stayed behind.

Vorshaan looked at him and said, "Something else?"

Yuikai checked that they were truly alone save for the mutant crew, then he played his trump card, "Beta is planning to double cross you."

"Yes" remarked Vorshaan dismissively, "I know."

Yuikai was taken aback by the casual replay and said, "You knew?"

Vorshaan snorted and said, "He is Alpha Legion, it would be more surprising if he wasn't planning to betray me."

"Then why keep him around?" asked Yuikai in confusion.

Vorshaan smirked, "The Alpha Legion prides itself on its unpredictability but what they forget is that if you double cross everybody all the time then even your betrayals become predictable. It was obvious from the moment he undertook Gamma's training that he was planning to have the simpleton kill me, the only question was when, I have taken his measure and if they think to cross blades with me they are both in for a rude surprise."

He turned to look out of the armourglass window gazing upon the blue sea and sky as he said, "Do not concern yourself too much, their usefulness draws to a close and once the Storm Heralds are ash I will dispose of them, I think a tragic accident en route back to orbit seems likely to befall both of them."

Yuikai looked at the Dusk Prince with fresh respect and said, "Then you will be in need of a new Sorcerer Prime, Magnus has given me wide remit in my operations, there is much I could do to advance your goals."

"Interesting but I have one question, what's in it for you?" said Vorshaan, "The truth this time."

Yuikai replied, "No point hiding it from you, the truth is that you are not the only one who has had run-ins with these Imperial lapdogs, they may be a bunch of nobodies but they have proved irritatingly stubborn. There are certain grimoires and tomes of lore they have seized, locking them away in their vaults like ignorant savages, one in particular is of great value to Magnus the Red and he wants it back."

"A book, I should have known" sighed Vorshaan

"That is what Magnus wants" replied Yuikai.

Vorshaan caught the subtle hint and said, "And what is it that you want?"

Yuikai replied, "I want to step out of my Primarch's shadow, I want to make my own mark on the galaxy and stand at the head of armies as they conquer worlds. I want to stop acquiring knowledge and actually start using it!"

Vorshaan nodded seeing opportunity, "Then I think we can reach an understanding, if you can arrange an accident for Beta and Gamma once this is all over then you can take their place and reave across the galaxy at my side."

Yuikai countered, "First I must complete my mission, Magnus the Red is not someone to cross."

"Very well, take whatever you want but the lapdog's Gene-Seed reserve is mine, I have plans for armies to rise under my banner" said Vorshaan as he gazed upon the endless sea before him, "First we conquer the Storm Heralds and then the galaxy."


	16. Chapter 16

**Noctem Oritur: Chapter16**

In the lecture hall four Space Marines stood conversing, brothers Mylos, Priyar, Zeax and Lorath all gathered together to hear their new Captain's orders, they were confused for much had changed in a short period of time and they were unsure what the future held. All they knew for certain was that the Fortress Monastery was bracing itself to come under attack and soon they would be plunged into battle once more.

They stiffened up coming into formation as Toran emerged at the doors to the hall and began to walk towards them; with him were two brothers from Pyrus Squad. The first was Bylan who carried the Company banner aloft proudly as he crisply marched along and the other was Novak who had been visiting the arming chambers, his customary helm had been replaced with a golden model with a reinforced faceplate while his pauldrons had been refitted with golden ablative layers. From his belt hung a loin cloth woven with the Chapter's symbol and he bore a Master-Crafted power sword and combat shield by his side, he was a glorious and resplendent declaration of his new position as a Company Champion and the implications were lost on no one.

Captain Toran had elevated a new Command Squad and it was not his First Company Brothers he had chosen.

The Marines awaited him in a disciplined line, not saying a word but with their eyes screaming outrage at this insult, Toran approached them as his command brothers stopped and stood honour guard. Toran paused and looked at the gathering as he said, "Welcome, as you can see I have been making changes to our brotherhood, I am here to tell you how you will fit into that new structure."

He began walking up and down their line looking each of them in the eye, seeing the resentment burning there and knowing he was on shaky ground. As Captain he could simply order them to comply with his orders but he needed more than that, he needed them to understand the situation and he needed their willing assistance to make his ideas a reality.

Toran spoke to them as he paced, "I understand you are shocked by this but there was no time to take consultations and soothe feelings, from now on our mantra must be the needs of the Chapter and all else must fall by the wayside. I have reviewed each of you in turn and have come to the determination that your greatest contributions to the Chapter stem not from your strong sword arms but from your knowledge and experience, the shining example each of you has become in the eyes of your brothers."

Toran paused and barked, "Lorath, step forwards!"

Lorath obeyed with uncertainty writ all over his face as the Captain said, "I have a mission for you, I need you to select nine brothers and form them into an assault squad under your leadership."

There was a moment of sheer confusion on Lorath's face as the implications set in then his eyes widened and he could not help blurt out, "You are making me a Sergeant?!"

Toran replied, "Yes and you will need to learn how to be more than a warrior, you must be a leader now."

Lorath looked stunned, for two hundred years he had dreamed of being elevated to a Sergeant's position only to be told he lacked the leadership qualities, now it was being handed to him by someone he had never liked. The implications were troubling as was the scale of the task set before him; he would be called upon to serve in a manner he had never faced before.

Lorath eyed Toran suspiciously and said, "With respect Captain, where exactly am I supposed to find these elusive battle-brothers?"

Toran answered, "Nimodes is drawing up a list of novices who are ready for ascension but there are only half a dozen so the rest of the brothers will be drawn from any training instructors who can still shoot straight as well as the gunship pilots and tank drivers."

From the line Mylos interjected, "Pilots will resent being forced to fight as line brothers."

Toran replied "Then tell them that any brother who wishes to protest has the Captains' permission to lodge a formal complaint… with Venerable Ajax."

That made lips twitch and eyes twinkle as everybody imagined Ajax's response to such a protest then Toran continued, "I have run the numbers, if we induct everybody who can fit into a suit of power amour and put a bolter in their hands then we can form three new squads."

The weight of that statement hung in the air for a moment and then Zeax and Priyar realised that would include them too, Priyar said, "All of us?"

"Yes" said Toran, "You will be Sergeants too, Zeax will form a Devastator squad and Priyar will lead a Tactical squad, including Mylos' squad and Pyrus squad that will bring us to forty-six battle brothers and a Dreadnought: a combat effective Demi-Company."

Everyone seemed elated at the sudden promotions and they stood straighter in their armour as their respect for the new captain overrode their previous concerns, however Mylos refused to be swayed and said, "We have little over a Terran week before the enemy reaches our shores."

That pronouncement shattered everybody's delight and Priyar stated, "That is not enough time to whip these new squads into shape."

Zeax replied grimly, "That is all the time we have."

Toran told them, "Then swallow your pride and call upon Nimodes if you have to but these are Astartes we are talking about and you can tell them that their Captain is confident that they shall rise to the challenge."

He drew in a breath and decided to take the plunge into far trickier waters, saying, "Now onto strategy... what are your assessments?"

"Grim" replied Zeax, "The situation is dire, our best estimates show we will hold out no more than two weeks, even factoring in your changes that gives us roughly a month."

Priyar spoke up, "The real problem is that we cannot risk using our full arsenal once the foe is inside the Fortress Monastery itself, the collateral damage would be staggering, there is simply no way to destroy the foe and preserve our home." Something in the statement caught Toran's attention and the spark of an idea germinated in his mind as he said, "Say that again."

Priyar blinked and repeated, "There is no way to destroy the foe and preserve our home."

"What if we don't?" said Toran.

"Excuse me?" asked Mylos.

"What if we forget preserving the Fortress, it will fall regardless" said Toran, "What if we think only of hurting the enemy and disregard collateral damage?"

Priyar said, "Captain, are you talking about bringing our home down on upon our own heads?"

"I am talking about hitting the enemy with everything we've got" said Toran echoing Wrethan's words, "We hold nothing back, we use every edge we can find and every weapon at our disposal: nothing is off the table."

Priyar thought about it for a moment then said, "Well if preserving the Fortress itself is not a priority that opens up several possibilities but there won't be much left standing afterwards."

Zeax spoke up saying, "Armouries can be rebuilt, shrines rededicated and Forges relit, the heart of the Chapter is the brothers: as long as we stand and the gene-seed endures the Storm Heralds live."

"Noble words" said Toran, "Now brothers you have much to do and I want defence proposals from each and every one of you, now go forth: Sergeants."

The gathering saluted with the sign of the Aquilla and broke up but as everybody filed out Toran called "Mylos a word."

As everybody else left the Sergeant remained and stood stiffly before his Captain, Toran looked him up and down from his resentful face to the augmetic leg and realised that he would rather face a thousand enemies than have this conversation. Still he drew in a breath and said, "Mylos, there is something that needs to be resolved between us, we need to discuss the death of your twin."

Mylos stood stiffly and replied, "The respect I hold for your rank forbids me from saying what I am thinking."

Toran sighed and reached up to remove the badge from his breastplate, he placed it on a lecture podium and said, "Let us talk not as Captain and Sergeant but as brothers, if only for a minute."

Mylos eyed him suspiciously and then said, "What is there to say, Pylos died and you lived."

Toran declared, "There are bigger concerns than you and me, the whole Chapter is under dire threat, our infighting can no longer be tolerated."

Mylos spat, "Pylos died to save you, it shouldn't have been him that died that day; it should have been you!"

Toran was taken aback by the bitterness of the rebuke and realised that he did not want to say the next words, all his training and indoctrination screamed at him not to say it but the lives of everybody hung in the balance. He swallowed his pride and said the words no Space Marines had ever said before, "You are right to say it was my fault, I was a rookie on my first deployment and I should have died that day but Pylos chose to save me at cost of his own life. I wish I could change that, if I could bring Pylos back right now I would but I cannot, I cost the life of a brother and caused you great pain… and I am sorry for that."

Mylos looked stunned at the words, he stared for long moments then he said, "You are sorry?!"

"Yes" said Toran unsure if the Sergeant were confused, regretful or angry, then he held out an open hand saying, "I cannot change what happened, all I can do is try to be worthy of Pylos' choice and be a brother to you, can you forgive me?"

"You are sorry…" repeated Mylos staring at the outstretched hand as if it were a poisonous viper but slowly he said, "For so long I have hated you, anger was so much easier than living with the pain but that is not what Pylos would have wanted. He would not have wanted us to fight... I cannot say I will ever like you but what I can do is respect you and willingly fight at your side."

He grasped the hand and gave it a single pump saying, "I forgive you… brother."

Toran nodded and said, "I am glad to be able to count you among my comrades once more."

Mylos looked like he didn't know how to feel and said, "Don't expect me to stop pointing out when you are making mistakes."

Toran decided to take what little he could get and said, "I could use a Naysmith."

Mylos replied, "So how do we move forwards from here?"

Toran turned back to the podium and picked up his badge of rank, he placed it back on his breast and said, "Now, now we must be Captain and Sergeant once more… your squad still numbers eight brothers correct?"

"Yes... Captain" replied Mylos hesitantly.

"Perfect" declared Toran, "I want you to bring them to the docks and tell them to prepare for air combat, we are launching a strike on the enemy as they cross the ocean."

Now Mylos sounded surprised as he said, "You are going to use my idea?"

Toran nodded and said, "You were right, we should not give up the initiative and you had a sound plan, though perhaps it needs one small modification."

Mylos asked without rancour, "What would that be?"

Toran replied, "Have you ever spoken to Hevostan about some of the artefacts held in stasis within the Forges... there are some most interesting relics down there."


	17. Chapter 17

**Noctem Oritur: Chapter 17**

The blazing sun shone upon the sea as its waves rolled along, the dance was as ancient as time on any world with open waters but today something changed. The waters began to churn and froth as if they were boiling as something forced its way up from below, rising like a great leviathan of the deeps.

A thin black tower burst through the surface, surging into the sky, its matt black surface drinking in light as water cascaded off its flanks. Then sea parted again and two long cylinders arose, they were each large enough to fit a small vehicle inside and connected to the tower at a ninety degree angle. Between the two cylinders lay a short horizontal deck, unadorned save for the spiral in a starburst that was the Storm Herald's icon.

The submersible vessel sat steaming in the hot sun as water evaporated off its hull and the sea settled down, then it sprung into life. Where the tower met the flat deck a large hatch swung up and back to reveal a small cavity, within two servitors awoke and trundled forwards on caterpillars treads, dragging chains behind them. In the cavity the floor disappeared, sinking downwards into the submarine only to return a minute later bearing a squat vehicle.

It had a long nose with four lascanons set flush into the sides and underneath was a rotary missile launcher, at its rear were set two engines and from them rose short wings in a folded up position, few would have recognised it for it was an ancient relic of war: a Xiphon pattern interceptor. In the Xiphon's cockpit Captain Toran was completing his preflight checks and watching the servitors lower his wings and attach a catapult's chain to his plane.

As they worked he had a moment to reflect upon the objections to his presence, the protests that the Captain should not be leading this strike but he had overruled them. He had pointed out the other squads were not ready for battle and he had just pulled all the pilots, what he had not said was that he needed to do this, he needed to hit back at the enemy himself.

He was shaken out of his reverie as the servitors moved back and a blast shield rose behind the jet, he spooled up the engines with a howling roar and braced as a mechanical voice droned a countdown in his ear. There was time for one last sweep of the controls, seeing all was green then he heard the word zero as the hand of god crushed him into his seat.

Enormous G-forces pressed into him peeling his lips back from his teeth and making his organic eye water as the Xiphon was catapulted forwards and its engines spat a pillar of blue flame. The deck became a blur beneath him and the sea rose up making him think for an instant he was going to plough straight into a wave but then the Xiphon's nose rose and it shot into the cloudless blue sky.

Toran pulled back on the controls and the fighter climbed, fighting for lift with all it was worth, he held on grimly until the buffeting faded away then settled into a fuel conserving cruise. He flew slowly as he watched his rear auspex, after a minute he saw another Xiphon take off, then a minute later another until eight fighters were in the air.

The Xiphon pattern was ancient, a machine from the glory days of the Great Crusade and they had been considered valuable treasures when they had been issued to the Chapter five thousand years earlier. Now they were held to be irreplaceable and hallowed relics, they had not seen the outside of a stasis vault in two millennia, but the Forgemaster had understood that now was the hour when they must fly again.

In their cockpits the members of his new command squad fought to catch up, their other duties held for a moment while they performed this vital mission. They were dedicated and eager for the fray but they were not alone, far behind them the submarine was launching more aircraft, these however were no Xiphon's these were Stormtalons. At the controls Mylos' squad followed their Captain's lead, ready and eager to unleash their fury on the enemy's boats.

Behind them the submarine, the product an eccentric Techmarine's labour some sixteen centuries earlier, sank back beneath the waves. Its small cargo deployed it would play no further part in the battle, for the jets there would be no recovery that way, now it was do or die.

Toran surveyed his two squadrons, sixteen aircraft against the entire might of the Traitor's armada, he opened a vox link and said, "All squadrons on me, open up the throttles but keep low beneath the enemy's auspex, stick to your assigned pairs and Halis remember your my wingman. Everybody sedate your auspex's Machine Spirits to passive mode and maintain vox silence, any excess signal noise could give us away."

Upon his orders the aircraft sped up and descended towards the wave tops, flying so low that their jetwash kicked up large sprays of water behind them. Such flying was perilous even for Transhumans but it was necessary to stay beneath the enemy's auspex sweeps, this however was a secondary concern for the true danger was the Traitor's orbital surveillance.

Toran focussed on his controls, keeping the Xiphon level and low but at the back of his mind he could not help but dwell on the fact the enemy ruled orbital space and would be watching at all times. The question was were they only expecting attacks from the direction of the Fortress Monastery?

Would some random cultist sitting at a surveyor screen high above recognise that their group was an attack formation and if he did could he pass the message on quickly enough to someone who could act on it?

Furion had cautioned against relying on the foe's incompetence but there was only so much one could do to minimise the risk and the gamble had to be taken. Toran thought on this as his jet tore across the wave tops with blistering speed and the long minutes dragged by.

Finally he saw icons on his auspex, high flying aircraft performing CAP duties over the flotilla, they were widely spaced and flying routine circuits: they hadn't received a warning yet. Toran counted the icons and determined there were twelve interceptors on station; speed and mass indicated they were most likely Hell Blade patterns. Twelve Chaos fighters against eight Astartes interceptors, he liked those odds.

He gripped his control column tightly as they closed, judging how close they could get before alarms started ringing then the moment was perfect and he roared, "Break formation and attack by pairs, Mylos hit the troopships and stay the hell away from their void shields!"

Even as he was yelling the roar of the Xiphon's engines increased as the jet rose in altitude, the interceptor squadron broke up into pairs and Halis Paur was close on Toran's tail. Normal dog fighting rules gave the advantage to the force with greater height and speed but the Xiphon was the product of ancient sciences and it powered through the climb as effortlessly as if it were flying straight and level.

Toran saw ahead of him that the CAP was finally reacting but it was too little too late as his auspex wailed that it had locked on a Hell Blade, he jabbed a rune on his control column and felt a clunk as a missile dropped from his rotary launcher and streaked forth. To its credit the Hell Blade tried to jink away but the missile's machine spirit was too cunning to be fooled and it impacted with the craft in a blazing fireball of destruction.

Toran had no time to celebrate as he banked onto another desperately jinking Hell Blade, he rolled in behind it and let off a blast of lasfire but the shot went wide. Whoever was in the cockpit pulled around into a desperate high G turn to evade and Toran followed him into it.

G force crushed him into his seat and the world turned red around his vision as the two craft roared through the sky, they were pulling nine G's now enough to cause blackout in a mortal man but Toran was Transhuman. He pushed more power into the Xiphon and saw the world turn black as the instruments told him he was pushing fifteen G's, then the Hell blade was in his sights and he pulled the trigger.

Four spears of light shot out and lanced the Hell Blade tearing one wing right off and sending it into a spin, Toran let out a hiss of victory but was forced to roll out to avoid a collision. For a moment he was flying inverted over the flotilla and he could see the devastation Mylos' squadron was wrecking, darting Stormtalons racing to and fro unleashing waves of Typhoon missiles and blitzing boats with assault canons. A dozen hulls were burning fiercely already and one boat was even starting to capsize as water flooded into a hole at the waterline.

The moment of distraction nearly cost Toran his life as a spray of autocannon fire swept inches past his nose, he threw himself into a roll and banked to see the twin bladed shape of another Hell Blade diving upon him. Its quad autocannons fired another burst towards him and only a desperate roll saved Toran from having a wing torn off.

Toran threw himself into a series of desperate rolls and jinks trying to shake it off but the Hell Blade's pilot must have been enhanced in some way for it followed him effortlessly through every manoeuvre. Toran's auspex screamed constant warnings and he gritted his teeth as he raced across the sky, pulling every trick and every evasion possible but nothing could lose his pursuer.

Suddenly a voice broke over the vox crying, "Captain break right on my mark… three, two, one, MARK!" Toran complied and banked hard right seeing the dagger shape of Halis' Xiphon flash past, Lascanons blazing fiercely. The oncoming Hell Blade was speared four times by coherent beams of light and it was ripped to shreds, crumpling like a used ration tin as it fell towards the sea in a burning comet of filthy smoke.

Toran levelled off and said "Thank you Halis, I owe you my life."

"Will you always need me to watch your back?" asked Halis cynically.

"Situation?" asked Toran.

"Enemy CAP destroyed, no casualties" reported Halis.

Toran breathed a sigh of relief but he was interrupted as a cry came over the vox, it was Mylos calling, "Captain, all missiles expended, switching to canons."

Toran banked and glanced down to see scores of burning boats below and the shapes of dead bodies floating everywhere but then his auspex screamed warnings of fresh dangers. He looked ahead and saw waves of fresh Hell Blades taking off a massive ship with two runways, then he looked at his own controls and saw the perilously low amount of fuel left.

"Negative" Toran called, "All craft break off and disengage."

"Were not done here" protested Mylos.

"Break off now" Toran replied, "Were approaching bingo fuel, disengage and head back to the Fortress Monastery, we need to be there to meet them on the ground."

With that the Space Marines turned for home and raced away before the Traitors could intercept them leaving carnage in their jetwash as scores of boats burned and thousands of mutants sank into the icy depths.


	18. Chapter 18

**Noctem Oritur: Chapter 18**

In the lecture hall a briefing was taking place, present was Acting-Captain Toran in his glorious new armour with his new Champion and Standard Bearer standing proudly by his side. Also present were all the Sergeants of his Demi-Company, Lorath, Zeax, Priyar, Nimodes, Mylos and Furion, the Captain was speaking to them saying, "This is the situation, we have lost all contact with forces outside the Fortress Monastery and we are effectively isolated, we have no precise fix on the enemy's location but there can be no doubt they are coming. We have little time left to review our progress, how are your news squads shaping up?"

"Raw and untested" answered Priyar, "We have had no time to smooth the rough edges off but they will fight when the time comes, we can promise you that."

"You have all worked wonders to accomplish so much already" said Toran, "We can worry about spit and polish when we win this battle, now what of Ajax?"

Furion replied, "He is prowling the battlements waiting for the enemy, as far as I tell he is chomping at the bit for the fighting to start."

"Perhaps that for the best" said Toran, "Now onto the Fortress itself, Brother Daite what do you have for us?"

From the shadows Daite stepped forwards and as he did so a large Hololith sprang into life over the hall, it was a perfect recreation of the Fortress Monastery in multiple wire framed levels. Daite began pointing areas of interest out with his augmetic hands saying, "Much will depend on how badly the wall-guns bleed the enemy before they achieve landing, we have to accept we cannot stop their advance forever but if we can whittle down their forces first we may stand a chance. Once they are inside they will have to advance up from the docks so we have blocked off all major access routes and thoroughfares, that leaves only smaller passages and tunnels where their numbers will be meaningless."

Toran spoke up and said, "What defences are we preparing to meet them?"

Daite answered by highlighting hundreds of tiny pinpricks on the hololith and saying, "We began by placing pitfalls, traps and cave-ins along expected routes but then I found something interesting in one of the more obscure passage of the Codex Astartes: the siege of Lesser Damantyne."

Priyar said, "Lesser Damantyne… never heard of it."

Daite answered, "The references were curiously vague, even the details of who was fighting there were deliberately redacted but there were detailed descriptions of a fortress called the Schaedenhold. It seems the architect built the entire edifice around the concept that the fortress would be penetrated, so he built it to provide the defenders a series of fall back points which were rigged to explode as soon as the Heretics broke through, even the whole Fortress itself was designed to self-destruct."

That brought winces from all gathered and Lorath said, "Nasty piece of work, that architect whatever his name was, must have been an evil genius."

Daite nodded, "I borrowed a page from his book and erected barricades and pill boxes throughout all the junctions and passages I could find, each is well stocked and provisioned. Serfs will hold the line as long as they can then fall back before being overrun, the last man out will trigger incendiaries and seismic mines behind them. They will then fall back to the next redoubt and the next making the Traitors bleed for every metre."

Toran interrupted, to say, "Furion, are the serfs ready for that?"

Furion replied, "I've been drilling them over and over, they will stand and fight hard I can guarantee that, they are not just fighting for us they are fighting for their homes and families. Also each man knows to drop everything and I do mean everything when he hears the whistle blow and run like hell, we can remote detonate the traps if necessary."

Toran said, "That should suffice for the cultists but we all know the true threat is the Chaos Marines, Daite what do you have ready to counter them?"

Daite replied, "The wall guns are still our best defence, the enemy must deploy some of their Astartes to break through. Now we have effective numbers we can muster the company to repel them as they come, estimates are we can hold strike forces out for seven to ten days."

Zeax spoke up to say, "Unless they send all their Astartes in one overwhelming strike."

Priyar rebuked, "Please don't say that too loud, the last thing we want to do is to tempt fate."

Toran brought the discussion back on track saying, "Once they break in the fighting will be room to room, so we will break into combat squads and cut them apart with ambushes at every turn, hit and run only we can't afford to get bogged down. Nimodes are your novices ready?"

Sergeant Nimodes replied, "Ready, able and eager for the fray, your airstrike did wonders for morale, the scouts are confident of victory."

Lorath asked, "Do we actually know how much of the Heretic's army we destroyed?"

"No way to tell" answered Mylos, "But we burned scores of ships, they must have felt that."

"Could we hit them again?" asked Lorath

Mylos said with regret, "Not an option, the Traitors have deployed some form of Warp based disturbance over their flotilla, nothing is getting through that."

"Well that works both ways" said Toran, "Their air power is as redundant as ours."

"Good job we pulled the pilots then" said Furion, "They would have been useless otherwise."

Toran replied, "This battle will be decided by bolter and blade not random bombing, now I have reviewed all your defence proposals and they are extremely… unorthodox."

Then his lip twitched and he said, "But unorthodox thinking is exactly what we need right now… I want you all to make them happen; we are still heavily outnumbered and need every edge we can get. The key will be to bleed them outside the Fortress; every boat we sink is a thousand foes burnt to ash."

"So it all comes down to the Wall-guns" said Zeax, "If they fail to wreck enough damage all the fancy tricks in the galaxy can't stop the Traitors."

Toran put down the sour sentiment swiftly saying, "It matters not, we will meet them regardless and bring the Emperor's judgement down on their heads, we will unleash a fury as to make them regret ever coming here."

His speech was interrupted as the doors were flung open and more figures marched in, at their head was Techmarine Hevostan who was practically running towards them. With him were Persion, Jediah, and Halis who followed closely behind as the Techmarine called, "Forgive the intrusion but we have important news, high flying servo skull probes have sighted the enemy flotilla, they are mere hours away!"

"Damnation" snarled Toran, "They found some way to increase their speed, we have even less time than we thought, tell me how they are deploying."

Hevostan waved a hand and the hololith disappeared to be replaced by a large floating pict image captured by a skull probe as he said, "They are approaching from the east in a loose grouping, they are headed for land with no outriders running before them."

Furion said suspiciously, "No outriders, no Daemon engines, no assault rams?"

Toran saw Hevostan shake his head and he crossed his arms as he said, "That is not right, Vorshaan is cunning indeed, he delights in misdirection and deception, a careless frontal assault is not like him: he is up to something."

Everybody knew the truth of those words and stared at the images, then Nimodes barked, "Under the water, tell me we are looking under the water."

Hevostan replied, "Submerged servitor probes surround the island in all directions and they are all directly linked to the Forgemaster's communion, nothing is getting in that way."

Toran began drumming his fingers on his armour as he said, "How certain are we that we are shielded from the Warp?"

Daite replied, "The Wards are intact, the Warp will not be getting in here anytime soon, I stake my life on it."

Toran was still not convinced and said, "Vorshaan has some scheme going on, I know it."

His musing were disturbed as Halis said, "Captain, consider what would happen if a scrapcode infection got into the Wall-guns, it could shut down all the outer defences in one strike."

Toran saw the wisdom of his words and said, "Excellent point, no offence Hevostan but far too much rests on those wall-guns to risk them to Machine Spirits alone… I want brothers in the control room for each quadrant of the Fortress to ensure we can assume manual control in extremis."

Halis immediately said, "I volunteer to watch the Eastern quadrant."

Toran rebuked him, "I need you by my side, I shall send out one of the other squads."

Halis however replied, "Captain I have faced that cur twice now and each time lost good brothers, I lost my whole squad to his blades on Sacellum and then Brother Ophelian too."

Toran saw the fierce anger in his eyes and realised that no one wanted vengeance more than Halis, the thought occurred to him that this was an anger that he could use so he said, "Very well, take Daite with you and be my eyes on the guns."

"I can do it myself" said Halis his bloodthirst edging his voice with rancour yet Daite called over, "Two sets of eyes are better than one and I have a score to settle with that filth myself but worry not I will let you claim the first blood, I would not deny you that."

Toran saw Halis smile and nod in agreement then the Captain said, "We had better watch all the approaches, Novak and Bylan will take the north quadrant, Jediah and Persion take the west while Furion and I cover the south."

The squad saluted with the sign of the Aquilla and Toran turned to face the rest of the room saying, "Everybody else, signal your squads to prepare but I want all you proposals ready to go before the enemy reaches us."

He finished the meeting saying, "Make sure everyone understands the siege is now begun, war calls brothers and we shall not be found wanting."


	19. Chapter 19

**Noctem Oritur: Chapter 19**

The control room of the eastern quadrant was a place of busy industry, dozens of serf operators working ornate runebanks and watching surveyors screens with rapt attention. Many of them ran to and fro carrying scrips of parchment or lighting votive candles and spraying incense to appease the Machine Spirits.

The tension could have been cut with a knife for they all knew the Traitor's invasion was imminent and the time for action was nigh. The flotilla of boats was a smudge on the horizon and soon they would enter weapon's range, they were approaching from the east and so this room would soon be the front line of the war.

Standing in the room were two giant Space Marines, one with gleaming augmetic arms and the other tapping his fingers impatiently on his thigh, it was Daite and Halis Paur. They stood proudly with their helms off, a beacon of disciplined calm among the frantic activity of the serfs but inside they too felt the tension.

Daite saw Halis drumming his fingers and said, "Patience brother the war will be upon us all to soon."

"Not soon enough" growled Halis.

Daite glanced at him and said, "I know your need for vengeance but try to remain calm, as the Primarch wrote a hasty strike is a wasted strike."

Halis grimaced and his bald head wrinkled as he said, "Speaking of which… You there, no you! Leave off the rockets the enemy will have countermeasures in place, wait for the foe to crest the horizon then start with the Turbo-lasers before sending up rockets!"

The serfs bent to obey, swiftly beseeching the Machine Spirits for compliance, this room was linked in to all the defences and wall-guns on the eastern quadrant of the Fortress. Everything was connected to here and it was no exaggeration that the outcome of the battle may well be determined in this very room.

Daite decided the serfs needed a calming voice and declared, "Stand firm men, the enemy is many but our walls are mighty, forget not that we have Turbo-lasers and Mega-Bolters, Plasma Annihilators and minefields, artillery and rockets all ready to greet them. We shall send this scum scurrying away with our righteous fire and you shall be the men whose names are sung for a thousand years!"

As he stepped back Halis mummered, "Do you really believe that?"

Daite replied quietly, "They believe it, that will have to be enough."

Halis said, "I only hope Vorshaan doesn't go down to some random shell or Las-blast, my fists itch to greet him."

Daite looked at Halis and said, "Dead is dead brother and victory is victory, so long as the Fortress stands at the end of this I will be satisfied."

Halis asked ,"Do you think the Captain has what it takes to pull this off?"

Daite frowned at the cynical question and replied, "He has worked marvels in a very short space of time, he's pulled this gaggle of ashes and dregs into an effective force, I confess I could not have done it were it me in his place."

Halis commented, "He did tell us Chaplain Wrethan advised him to surround himself with symbols of rank and authority but he's taking that a bit… literally isn't he?"

Daite cocked his head to the side and said, "Well he is new, when he's had time to settle in he can command with a look and a tone of voice like the other Captains but for now we need to know whose giving the orders. A second's hesitation could cost us everything in the coming battle."

Their conversation was interrupted as a serf operator raised a hand to attract their attention, Daite walked over and bent down to say, "What is the problem?"

The serf said, "Not a problem my lord but something very anomalous has come up, it seems an unauthorised vox signal is being transmitted, it is faint and hidden in the standard operations but it is definitely there."

Daite frowned and said, "Where's it coming from?"

"That's the truly odd thing My Lord" replied the serf, "It's coming from within this room."

Daite peered at the read out, he was no Techmarine but every Astartes was given basic vox training and his hypno-implanted memories came to the fore as he said, "It looks like a squad vox link, an identifier trace for lost brothers… Halis come tell me what you think of this."

The words had barely left his lips when something crashed into Daite's left side throwing him away, one heartbeat later a ferocious explosion tore into him and he instinctively recognised that he had been shot with a trio of bolt pistol rounds. The pain was excruciating tearing deeply into his torso as his armoured body clattered to the deck and his lifeblood sprayed everywhere.

Daite came to a stop slumped up against a runebank, propped up in a seated position as he fought to stay conscious. All was agony and a sea of liquid fire but a cold calculating part of his mind informed him that his left arm was hanging by a thread, his chest was heaving and he could tell he had shattered his ceramic reinforced ribs and his primary heart had stopped as well as one of his three lungs being pierced.

A mortal would have been dead from the first strike but even his Transhuman physiology was struggling to keep him alive, he need to get to an Apothecarion fast or he would die. He was dragged from his self-reflection by the noises of screaming and carnage penetrating his foggy mind, he opened his eyes to see the unbelievable taking place.

Before Daite's disbelieving eyes Halis had gone totally insane for he was rampaging amid the runebanks and serf operators, killing them with great blows of his fists that caved in skulls and shattered ribcages. They screamed, they cried and they ran all to no avail for Halis was like a man possessed, killing and destroying all within reach. None could escape his wrath, none could stand against him and he left not one alive.

In seconds the room fell into a grisly silence and Daite realised he and Halis were the only ones left, he watched as the other Space Marine surveyed his work and nodded in satisfaction. The other turned and calmly walked over to a runebank and as he did so he pulled a crystal datachip from his belt, he found an interface and without ceremony, chanting or incense plugged it into the device.

The effects were instantaneous, the rune bank screeched in binary agony, and its lights flickered on and off in an epileptic fit, an insane burst of scrapcode fed through the vox hailers almost sounding like it was laughing. The effects spread from runebank to runebank like a virus, causing mechanical agony and disease wherever its filthy touch spread, then in a heart stopping moment they all went dark.

In the blinking and flickering emergency lights Daite saw the implications, the control room was infected by the touch of Chaos and so too were all the defences it controlled. All the wall-guns, all the Turbo-lasers and Mega-Bolters, Plasma Annihilators and minefields, artillery and rockets they would all be corrupted as well. The entire eastern side of the Fortress Monastery was now effectively defenceless, exposed and vulnerable.

Daite realised that there was nothing now that could stop the Traitors from approaching unmolested; the Chaos Marines would set foot on the island without losing so much as a single warrior. The way was open for them to invade and absolutely nothing could stop them, now it was certain that the Fortress would fall.

Daite gurgled a mouthful of blood and the noise attracted the attention of the other Space Marine, who left the runebank and walked over to the slumped form of the injured initiate. He knelt down and pulled a short blade from his belt, pinning Daite's one good arm back then reversed his grip on the blade and placing it into the gap in the armour, perfectly poised to thrust into the secondary heart.

The other Space Marine said in a silken voice quite unlike his former cynical tone, "Still alive, well we can take care of that."

Daite said with a bloody trickle running from his mouth, "Halis, you have to fight this; you have to try, try to resist whatever they've done to you. Please come back to us, remember who you really are."

The other marine smirked and replied, "So you think this is some warp trick, you think some Daemon has taken over my mind but nothing could be further from the truth. You are mistaken to think I am not acting like myself for at last I am acting like the person I have always been,...I am more myself right now than I have ever been."

Daite looked at the other and was lost in how green his eyes were; so very, very green as he whispered, "Halis…"

"Do not call me that!" The other snarled, "Halis Paur that was never my true name, every day I told you but none of you had the eyes to see, not even you with your feeble revelations. You all looked but did not observe, the more you saw the less you knew for you let trust and brotherhood blind you to reality."

With those words the scales fell from Daite's eyes and he did not understand how he could not have seen the truth before. The lie was so obvious, so blatant that it had never even entered the realm of possibility, he had been deceived and now his Chapter would pay for it.

The other smirked and pushed the knife deeply into the armpit as he said, "Yes, yes you see it now; you see my true name."

As the knife slipped home in his flesh and as his remaining heart stopped beating Daite whispered his final revelation.

"h.A.l.i.s. p.a.u.r… Alh paur is…"

"Alpharius."


	20. Chapter 20

**Noctem Oritur: Chapter20**

The eastern docks of the Fortress Monastery were crammed with boats, line upon line of hulls ramming up onto the berths and shoving themselves forward in squeals of metals on rock. The tangle of hulls resulted in a knot of crushed metalwork but the crews cared not as hordes of mutants scampered forwards, dashing from tilted deck to tilted deck. Occasionally bodies would slip and fall between the grinding metal hulls and be crushed to paste but their comrades cared not and raced onwards in tide of frenzied hate.

Tens of thousands of cultists poured outwards from the docks and dashed into the tunnels leading deeper into the Fortress, the loyalist's air strike had killed thousands of them but far more than that were racing into battle, eighty thousands of the lost and damned facing off against ten thousand serfs. The defenders were ragged and unprepared, they had expected days of warning before the outer perimeter fell but now the enemy was here among them and nothing they had could scratch the armour of the Chaos Marines who towered over the rest of the horde.

Here and there knots of defenders fought back but they were islands adrift in a sea of foes and were swiftly overwhelmed, as they had been ordered they triggered their bombs as they fell and the blasts engulf hundreds of cultists unfortunately it was but a drop in the ocean and the horde raced onwards. The remaining defenders fell hastily back into the tunnels under the towering edifices of the Fortress as they screamed requests for orders into the vox net, but all that came back was the harsh mocking laughter of scrap code infecting their comms and each man was left to fight his own war.

At the head of the horde ran a dark figure with two black swords and a pair of sweeping mutant wings flowing behind him, it was Vorshaan and he danced though the knots of defenders with gleeful cries as his blades slashed and disembowelled everyone in reach. The attack was going well and nothing could stand before the Traitors; of the Storm Heralds themselves there was no sign as yet, they must be waiting deeper within the Fortress.

Vorshaan led his hordes of mutants and Chaos Marines along a loading dock and found a great ramp leading upwards and further in, he ran up it effortlessly but paused when he saw was awaiting him. Standing at the head of the ramp was a single power armoured figure, awaiting them patiently with no weapons in his hands.

Vorshaan bounded forwards with his dark blades extended before him ready to carve his opponent in half but pulled up short when he saw that the figure's dark blue and grey armour had been defiled with bloody 'A' shaped icons. He held up a fist and the crowd of mutants and Astartes jostled to a halt behind him and the Dusk prince peered at the bare features of the mysterious marine. Then Vorshaan threw back his head to let out a bark of laughter as he cried, "Why look it's my old partner, how have you been Alpha?"

Alpha didn't seem nearly as happy as he growled, "Vorshaan, you have no idea how much I want to punch you in the face."

Vorshaan waved his followers back as he chuckled, "What, not happy to see me old friend?"

Alpha spat, "You are late, thirty-five years late."

Vorshaan's grin didn't fade as he said, "I've been busy, after all when we cooked up this scheme together neither of us was expecting my whole army to be wiped out on Sacellum, I've had to rebuild my forces from scratch."

"OUR forces" growled Alpha.

"Yes, yes of course" said Vorshaan dismissively, "Still none of this would have been possible without you, I scarcely believed it when I got your signal that you had stumbled across the lost secrets of Reflex Shield technology."

"You almost let it slip through your fingers" snarled Alpha, "That convoy should have been wiped out to erase all the evidence and the Magos turned to the Dark powers."

"It all worked out in the end" replied Vorshaan smugly, "But I see there were complications on your end too, where are the rest of your infiltrators?"

"Dead" stated Alpha as if he were discussing lost bolt shell cases, "Forty three years of fighting the False Emperor's wars while you wasted time, none of the others made it this far and those moronic Storm Heralds actually sang their praises as if they were fallen brothers."

Vorshaan sniffed and said, "What a shame, still here we are with victory within our grasp at last."

Alpha replied, "Only after I spent four decades worming my way into a position to lower the defences and shut down their vox net."

Vorshaan grinned saying, "I confess when we captured and replaced the real Halis Paur on Sacellum it took me a good minute to figure out why you XXth Legion snakes were laughing your heads off, what were the odds of finding someone with that name, but by the Gods of the Warp how did the lapdogs never see it. Four decades you schemed right under their noses and no one ever suspected you."

"Hydra Dominatus" said Alpha dismissively, "This is what we do."

"Yes" said Vorshaan "And killing is what we do."

Alpha changed the subject saying, "I trust my Sorcerer has been making himself useful?"

"Ask him yourself" replied Vorshaan waving to the guards behind him, from the crowd a figure bearing a staff crowned with a three headed snake stepped forwards.

The sorcerer bowed low, far lower than he had ever done for Vorshaan as he said, "Alpha."

The infiltrator smiled at last as he nodded respectfully and said, "Beta."

The Sorcerer half turned and said, "May I introduce our newest associate, Gamma. This warrior is the first product of the stolen gene-seed; you could call him a prototype of our new army if you like, say hello Gamma."

The brute stepped forwards too and bowed low saying, "Alpha."

The infiltrator nodded again and replied, "Gamma."

Vorshaan had been watching the entire exchange with eyes darting from one person to another then he declared, "Alpha, Beta, Gamma, what's next... Delta? Tell me do you snakes whittle away the long evenings by sitting around coming up with cryptic names?"

"Why partner, you sound irate" said Alpha with a mocking grin.

It seemed Alpha had struck a raw nerve for Vorshaan's anger rose and he barked "Of course I do, you shot me! Back on Sacellum when I threw away a whole army and a good ship just to get you embedded with the Storm Heralds, trying to kill me was not part of the deal!"

Alpha replied in a silky, mocking tone, "Come now, if wanted you dead you would be dead or do you really think I would fire a bolter from that range and miss?"

Vorshaan barked, "You still tore up my wings!"

"They grew back" replied Alpha dismissively, "Besides you got payback when you beat me within an inch of my life."

"That was your idea but I can't deny that I did enjoy it" said Vorshaan begrudgingly as his anger subsided, "But you know what I couldn't stand was that in order to sell your cover I had to let that pathetic friend of yours live, not once nor twice but no less than three times I have had to allow that Sergeant to walk away alive."

"He is a Captain now" said Alpha somewhat defensively

"Oh well how nice for him" replied Vorshaan sarcastically, "Now do me a favour old friend and go kill him."

Alpha was taken aback and said, "You don't want to kill him yourself?"

"Call it a test" replied Vorshaan smugly, "You have been undercover with these lapdogs for forty three years, which is a long time to be surrounded by their smug faces, partner."

"You think my allegiances are compromised," snarled Alpha, "How can you say that after I shut down the defences and let you in, I have no affection for any of them."

Vorshaan replied, "Well if you have no loyalty to them then you won't mind killing a few, I will even send a squad of my murderers along as back up to assist."

Alpha sneered, "And to cut me down if I show any hesitation."

"Well you said it wasn't an issue" replied Vorshaan with a leer.

"Fine" growled Alpha.

"Right now that's settled let us get on with gutting every soul left in this gaudy bauble of a Fortress" Vorshaan proclaimed, "The rest of the Warlords can go butcher whatever they find, I have a gene-seed repository to loot."

"Tell them to watch themselves" said Alpha, "The lapdogs have had time to prepare; this whole place is riddled with traps and barricades."

"Good point" said Vorshaan turning to address his troops, "Tell the others to let the cultists go first, we will clog the traps with bodies then the other warlords can waltz in unopposed."

The troops rushed to obey and as hordes of cultists ran past them to pour into the Fortress Monastery Vorshaan gave a mocking salute and bounded away to find someone to kill. The Alpha Legionnaires however did not follow for Alpha called out, "Beta hold a moment."

The Sorcerer paused and waved the rest of the Chaos Marines onwards before saying, "Is there something else?"

Alpha checked no one was listening then said, "Beta, I need to know when you are going to fix me."

Beta sounded confused and said, "What are you talking about?"

"I am talking about him; the real Halis Paur" declared Alpha stepping forwards, "You did more than just give me his face and genetic code, you gave me his thoughts and memories, ripped them out of his skull and laid them over mine like a veil: I want it gone, I want HIM gone."

Beta shook his head and said, "You have been holding the memories too long, they are integrated into your neural architecture now, I cannot remove them without a complete mind wipe and that would erase you too."

Alpha growled, "You don't understand, I can still feel him in my mind, clawing at the mental walls you put in there. I can't shut him up, I can't stop the mewling and insipid bleating, he is fighting me for control."

Beta shook his head and said, "It doesn't work like that, it's not a distinct personality in your mind, there is only you in there. The problem is that you have been acting like him for far too long, it's reinforced the memories and created a divergence in your subconscious."

Alpha barked, "How do I get rid of it?!"

Beta grinned and said, "You must act like your old self to reinforce your own memory engrams then the implanted memories will be buried under your own personality. I would recommend starting with your closest friends, kill them and you will be back on the path to finding yourself."

"Well why didn't you just say that in the first place" replied Alpha with a wicked grin, "It will be a genuine pleasure to throttle Pyrus squad one by one, I think I will start with Toran... I've always wanted to plunge a knife into his trusting back."


	21. Chapter 21

**Noctem Oritur: Chapter 21**

In the bowels of the Fortress Monastery battle raged, monstrous mutants falling upon helpless men and ripping them limb from limb, the Serfs fought back as best they were able but they were cut off and isolated from each other. Here and there men stood and fought to the last, heroic last stands that would have been commemorated in any other battle but now were lost and forgotten as the tide of cultist scum overwhelmed each in turn and left nothing but corpses in their wake.

Racing along the corridors Captain Toran led his command squad eastward, they had heard some commotion coming from the control room and the last order he had been able to give before the vox net failed was to regroup and follow him to investigate.

As they ran they encountered knots of cultists racing to and fro, these were swiftly dispatched by Novak's shining blade and he snarled, "Abaddon's balls! How the hell did they get past the defences?"

Persion answered, "I do not know, both the Primary and Secondary vox-nets are down, I cannot reach anybody."

Furion said, "Without the Vox we cannot tell where the enemy is nor direct our forces in any meaningful way, it will be impossible to co-ordinate a defensive engagement without comms."

Toran agreed and said, "We have to reach the origin of the disruption, whatever the enemy has done we must correct it.

The squad raced onwards until at last they reached their objective, Toran called, "Follow me and be ready for..." but fell silent as he charged inside and found a scene from a nightmare, a grisly tableau of carnage and death.

Bodies were strewn everywhere they could see, broken and sundered as they lay sprawled over dead runebanks and logic engines. A large pict imager on the far wall was fizzling into static and blood sprayed the walls but worse than that, worst of all was the slumped form of an Astartes sitting in one corner surrounded by superhuman blood, it was Daite and he was dead.

Furion sprang to his side but Toran knew it was pointless, the coldness of the grave lay upon him and nothing any of them could do would make a difference now. Toran felt rage stirring in his hearts but there would be time for that later, this situation demanded cool heads and rational thinking. He saw Furion gently reach out to close his eyes as the Captain called, "Search the room, Halis is still unaccounted for and may need our help!"

As the others spread out and swept the area Furion searched Daite's corpse and called out, "Captain come look at this."

Toran walked over, his soul seething with outrage and despair at the sight of the corpse, he suppressed it as his training had taught him and looked with dispassionate eyes as he said, "What is it?"

Furion pointed to Daite's side and said, "That is a Space Marine's dagger but not a defiled Chaos blade, this is an Ultramarian pattern Gladius as might be wielded by an initiate from our Chapter."

"That is indeed odd" said Toran.

"It gets stranger" said Furion, "Daite's blade is still in his own scabbard, so where has this come from?"

The Captain was baffled by this mystery and mused, "Halis is still unaccounted for; could someone have overpowered them and stolen his blade?"

Toran stood up and said, "Have we found anything?"

"Nothing" declared Jediah, "There is no sign of whoever did this."

"There must be something" said Toran, "This happened fast and unexpectedly."

Bylan asked in his mechanical wheeze "+What do you mean Master?+"

Toran answered, "Daite's blade was unblooded and his bolt pistol unfired."

Novak replied, "That is not right, no Astartes would go down without a fight and I cannot believe Halis was taken by surprise either, he is too sceptical and paranoid to be taken unawares."

"Nothing about this make sense" stated Toran, "Are we having any luck with the Logic Engines?"

Persion had been busily tapping away at runes on the ornate consoles and said "Nothing, somebody has deliberately been through the system and deleted all the records, the back-ups and the copies of the back-ups that nobody's supposed to know about. Then the bastard released a Scrapcode infection into the network, it has contaminated the machine Spirits meaning we have no operational defences on the eastern side and the primary and secondary vox-nets are howling with insanity. I cannot undo this, it will take a full cyber-exorcism to cleanse this taint."

Novak said, "We do not have the time, the enemy is within our gates, the Fortress falls even as we waste time here."

Toran ordered, "Somebody get me some answers now."

Furion had been continuing his search of Daite's body and called, "Wait I have something, Daite's audio logs are open, he deliberately set them to continuous recording before he died."

"+Why would he do that?+" asked Bylan perplexed.

"Because there was something he desperately wanted us to know, something he was willing to die to tell us" replied Toran, "Play back the log."

Furion intoned the chant of awakening then routed the recording through their personal vox speakers, the squad listened intently as the events played out. They heard the banging and screaming that they all recognised as a Transhuman destroying mortals and the deathly quiet that followed.

Then they heard the words that followed and their world collapsed around them as they heard the confession, the betrayal and the revelation. Daite's last act being to leave a record of his killer's name, a name that was hated and reviled across the galaxy, "Alpharius."

Silence fell as the squad stood still in shock, overwhelmed by denial, horror and despair. Ordinary men would have been devastated, crushed into hopelessness and apathy by the scale of the betrayal but these were Astartes, their hypno-indoctrination training meant there was one response that they could muster.

Violent rage.

"NO!" Toran roared as insane fury overwhelmed him, he lashed out with a fist and smashed a runebank into splinters, then he screamed as he grabbed a chair to hurl it at the large pict imager to break it into a million pieces. He tore through the room smashing everything within reach, even cold bodies were grabbed and ripped asunder as he tried to vent his agony, his outrage at the decades of lies and deceits he had been fed.

He spun about looking for something else to smash and saw the rest of the squad in similar torment, Novak was pounding the walls and screaming furiously with each blow as he left gaping craters in the rockface. Meanwhile Persion had clenched his hands into fists and was pounding them against his reinforced skull as if he could beat the pain from his soul,

Jediah had taken a more direct route by releasing one of his gauntlets and drawing a sharp blade across his palm to let Transhuman blood flow. Bylan who had always been so innocent and trusting was stamping on corpses with his armoured boots, staining the proud colours with gore as Furion gripped a runebank so hard it buckled and chanting, "I will kill him, I will kill them all, I will kill everybody."

It was this that finally shocked Toran back to reality, a colder wake-up call than a bucket of water over the head, for Furion was a pillar of strength in the squad and if even he was reduced to insane rage then their spirit truly was shattered. Toran looked at his squadmates and barely recognised them, they had less self-control than a Khorne Berserker, then he realised that in mere moments they would charge from this room and find the first enemies they could get their hands on to start killing, not stopping till they were all dead.

The coming fight would be savage, it would be terrible and bloody but ultimately he knew it would be useless and futile. A cold and detached part of his mind whispered to him that as Captain he had to drag them back into some semblance of discipline or all would be lost.

" Brothers" Toran said, but they did not listen so he yelled, "Brothers, heed me!"

Everybody snapped round to stare at him as he said "We have been wounded to our core but shall not falter, we shall fight on as the Primarch would, we shall fight them with cold, ruthless precision not this mad rage."

The madness in their eyes did not abate as Novak snarled, "Damn reason and strategy, I am going out there to find that bastard and make him pay!"

Toran rebuked him, "You would throw your life away in futile anger but I will not allow any of you to spend your life blood so cheaply, we shall fight the enemy but we will fight with discipline and ruthlessness not this reckless bravado."

Jediah was lost in rage as he snarled, "Do not think just because you have a fancy sword and a badge that you know everything, we demand blood... Blood for the Company! Skulls for the Chapter!"

Toran recognised that this was the moment his authority would truly be tested, here and now he would either crumble and break or stand taller than he ever had before. Toran faced off against Jediah eye to eye and growled, "You will stand down or I will make you sit down."

The moment stretched out for an eternity as the two glared at each other and nobody could tell what would happen next, Toran's gaze was firm and unwavering but Jediah's eyes were wide open in rage and froth was on his lips.

Then suddenly Jediah blinked and stepped back, eyes lowering in submission before his Captain's authority. Everybody breathed a sigh of relief and Furion was the first to ask, "What are you proposing?"

Toran said, "We are the not the first to see such betrayals, ten thousand years ago during the Great Heresy the Legions were split and from that darkness arose a credo, an idea we shall cleave to even as our hearts burn for retribution: Victory is Vengeance!"

Bylan stepped forwards holding the banner aloft and cried, "+I am with you!+"

"But how?" said Novak forlornly not seeing what Toran was driving at, "The Traitors are everywhere, the Fortress is breached and we cannot respond, Throne's sake we don't even have a way to talk to each other!"

Persion suddenly interrupted with glint in his eye as he said, "Not necessarily."

"Wait.. what?" queried Toran in surprise.

Persion said, "You told me to harden communications so I did that but Hevostan and I had another idea, we set up a tertiary back up system using the squad's own vox links as relays. It was off the grid and isolated in case of emergencies, I never told anyone and didn't mention till now because we didn't never had time to power it up for a trial run..."

Toran asked, "Will it work?"

Persion replied, "Well..."

Toran barked, "Persion! Tell me do we have secure comms?"

Persion looked at him uncertainly but the word that came out of his mouth was "Yes."

"That's all I need" snarled Toran as he last saw a way to fight back, "Pull the serfs off the north, west and southern walls and get them to the secondary defence positions, orders are to slow the enemy's advance exactly as they were trained to. Then contact the other squads and get the word out that we are enacting defence protocol Omega, all sergeants are hereby ordered to put their own plans into effect."

"Make no mistake" Toran declared to one and all, "The fight back against the Traitors begins now, Alpharius shall not be the only one to feel our wrath for we shall make each and every Heretic regret ever coming here."


	22. Chapter 22

**Noctem Oritur: Chapter 22**

Total war raged throughout the Fortress Monastery, the embattled defenders desperately struggling to hold back a tide of mutant scum. They fought with the desperate courage of hopeless men, emptying their weapons at the oncoming hordes then dropping everything and running as they had been taught as their barricades exploded to cover the enemy in fire.

The invaders had expected the battle to be easy but the Imperials had worked tirelessly to turn their home into a maze, major tunnels were filled with rockcrete and when the mutants tried to divert around the impasses they found themselves lost in winding corridors that looped back on themselves. Cunning traps, dead falls, spiked pits and incendiary grenades lurked at every corner and hundreds of mutants were caught unawares but that did not deter those following behind them.

At one junction the defending serfs fought to the last man to defend what appeared to be a major access way that sank out of sight behind them, they gave their all to hold back the tide but could not stand long and they triggered their bombs in a last gesture of defiance. The mutated cultists cheered as they poured over the incinerated corpses of friend and foe to race into the access way beyond and in a heaving scrum they sank into the heart of the Fortress. They were bitterly disappointed when they discovered that at the bottom of the slope somebody had removed a fifty foot wide portion of the floor and also from the many levels beneath to create an echoing drop into inky blackness. Those at the front cried out for their fellows to turn back but the crush of bodies kept sweeping onwards and pushed the front runners helplessly over the edge, plummeting screaming to a pitiless death far below.

The death toll was rising but despite all the ingenuity and courage of the defenders there was never any question of them stopping the invasion altogether. They were bleeding the horde for every meter and culling many but the numbers against them were simply overwhelming and all they were doing was slowing the inevitable. The cultists continued pressing forward while the Traitor Marines had yet to engage, they didn't need to for their victory was inevitable regardless.

Then something changed.

Every Imperial wherever they were paused for an instant as their vox beads suddenly stopping howling static and cut out, there was a moment's pause and then a voice carried through, deep and sonorous as only the Transhuman could be. In a confident tone the voice began issuing orders, crisp and clear orders to fall back from hopeless positions, as well as directions for reinforcements to go where they were needed most. The serfs gripped their weapons tighter and redoubled their efforts knowing that their Astartes masters had not abandoned them, they followed their directives to the letter and at last an effective defense coalesced as men stood together in the face of the foe.

But that was not all, for now their deadliest surprises came into play.

In one of the great Chapels of the Fortress there was a memorial, a black granite slab upon which was carved the names of those who had performed the greatest feats of valour, it was known as the Rock of Heroes and was one of the Storm Heralds most beloved relics. Once it had been a single slab but so many heroes had served in the Chapter that it had been added to again and again until it formed a stone maze so large that one could wander for hours and not find the centre.

Vorshaan had singled out the memorial in an act of spite and sent five hundred mutants to tear it down but he had not reckoned on the Storm Herald's determination to fight any way they could. As soon as the mutants began to hack at the granite surface they discovered to their horror that the entire edifice had been laced with det-cords and concussive blast caps. In a blaze of lightning and thunder the entire maze detonated, turning a memorial of five thousand years of valour into one massive nail bomb that obliterated every living foe that had set foot in the Chapel.

Meanwhile in the lowest levels the cultists swept effortlessly past any resistance and congratulated themselves for a bloody day's work but were horrified when the first drops of water splashed on their faces. The Storm Heralds had recognized that they did not have numbers enough to defend every level so they had left the lowest levels practically deserted. As soon as the horde entered the deepest levels the imperials opened the sea gates and flooded the bowels of the Fortress with the ocean itself. Cultists ran screaming back the way they had come but many were too slow and hundreds of them drowned as the raging torrent swept them away, smashing them into the unforgiving walls.

Elsewhere there was an Apothecarion filled with valuable supplies and the essential equipment necessary to turn boys into Astartes. It was here that Jubila led his decadent host to loot whatever they could in the hopes of stealing the tools to raise armies, what he had not reckoned on was that the Apothecarion had been left exposed deliberately as bait for a trap.

His warriors stormed inside but found no resistance, they swept outwards looking for loot but as soon as the first warrior touched a cogitator an alarm sounded, the tell-tale alert of a Bio-hazard contamination. The Chaos Marines looked up in horror as a mechanical voice blared that there had been a viral exposure and full sterilization protocols were in effect. Jubila reacted instantly by shoving one of his Marines aside and diving under a closing blast door, barely rolling out in time before the great slab slammed shut. He raised himself to his knees just in time to hear the distinctive whoosh of melta weapons firing and the screams of his men as the entire chamber and its priceless contents were reduced to ash.

The traps were everywhere, laced into everything and the death toll among the invaders spiraled as they did their deadly work. Yet the worst of all was that deep beneath the surface a monster was hunting the cultists, a towering metal behemoth stalking parties of invaders and crushing them with relentless determination. A pair of Khorne Berserkers who had become separated from their brethren raced to meet this monster, yearning for a true challenge but got more than they bargained for when they saw the distinctive silhouette of a Contemptor Dreadnought awaiting them.

Lost in bloodlust they charged anyway with chainaxes roaring but Ajax swung his assault canon around and unleashed a volley that caught one square in the chest, the torrent of shells tore though the ancient corrupted armour and sawed the Traitor into two pieces that fell to the ground. The other Berserker screamed in fury and leapt forwards to bury his axe in Ajax's chest but the ancient warrior didn't even sway at the impact. His great fist snapped forwards and snatched up the offending irritant as he bellowed, "IS THAT REALLY THE BEST YOU HAVE GOT?" and he squeezed the Heretic in his grip. The Traitor's defiled plate actually held out for a second before it crumpled in Ajax's fist and he crushed the enemy into a bloody pulp that ran between his mechanical fingers to puddle on the floor.

Then Ajax cast the gory remains away and stomped onwards to find more foes to slay.

It was not just in the depths that the battle raged for upon the open surface of the Monastery thousands of cultists were swarming over the wide plazas and training grounds, here their advantage in numbers truly came into play and the defenders could do nothing but retreat before them. The lost and the damned cheered as they swept forwards but little did they know that cold and distant eyes were watching them.

On the northern wall of the Fortress a single super-heavy weapon had been re-tasked and prepared for such an eventuality, an Apocalypse missile launcher that had been repositioned to point inwards rather than outwards and its warheads were armed. In the central control room a serf was counting the numbers of foes through the eyes of drifting servo skulls and when he judged the moment to be right he gave the order to fire. The defensive battery erupted in streams of smoke as missile after missile soared away, up into the sky only to fall back right in the heart of the advancing horde. Weapons designed to kill Titans fell upon flesh and stone and steel and obliterated absolutely everything with equal disdain, bodies simply ceasing to exist in the inferno as they were reduced to ash.

Even those outside direct blast range were not unscathed, the over-pressure bursting lungs and blowing out hearts with concussive force. The horde was left stunned, milling about dazed and befuddled but that was not the end of their woes for the trap was not yet fully closed, structural beams had been carefully weakened in the surrounding buildings and the force of the blasts shattered their foundations into dust. The mutants looked up in horror as the surrounding training halls, Thunderhawk bays, orbital gun towers and barracks crumbled and fell upon them, showering down debris as they toppled.

The surviving cultists screamed in horror and ran to and fro but the buildings came down with majestic slowness and crushed them all to paste. The Storm Heralds had leveled five square miles of their own Fortress but in doing so had killed eight thousand enemies, a full tenth of the enemy's strength wiped out in one strike. Vorshaan's rage when he heard was terrible indeed and his own men fled rather than face his wrath. The super-heavy strike had shaken the Fortress down to its foundations and the quake was even felt in the deep corridor where Toran and his Command squad were racing to link up with the rest of their brothers. As they ran Persion was constantly talking, providing a constant stream of updates from the central command rooms and providing orders to forces across the Fortress.

Persian was saying, "Heavy fighting in the Scout barracks, cultist numbers increasing."

Toran ordered, "Have them fall back to the next level and link up with reinforcements coming from the Northern wall, then query central control for the location of Traitor Marines."

Persion sent on the message then said,"Minimal contact, only a few scattered warriors, no large concentrations detected yet."

Novak said, "That doesn't sound like Chaos Marines."

Furion countered, "They are forcing us to waste our traps on pathetic cultists, they are using their own men as bullet shields to grind us down before launching their real offensive. That sounds exactly like Chaos Marines to me."

Toran said, "It is time to start our counter offensive, signal Lorath and tell him we are en-route to link up."

As the squad ran they emerged into a large storage room for supplies, it was filled with crates and towering stacks of boxes. They charged in but something about the atmosphere sent Toran's hackles rising, he pulled up short and the squad paused around him in defensive formation.

Toran wasn't sure what had made him stop but then his augmetic eye detected the slightest trace of heat bloom, the distinctive spoor of Power Armour left in a careless idle state. He drew the sword of Thiel and roared "To arms!" as a dozen midnight clad Night Lords arose from hiding and fell upon them.


	23. Chapter 23

**Noctem Oritur: Chapter 23**

From all around midnight clad bodies sprang forwards, leaping from cover with bolters blazing and flensing knives held ready, a dozen Chaos Marines leapt into combat with the speed of the enhanced and the precision of veteran ambushers. Their trap was well enacted but they had expected the Storm Heralds to react with Transhuman speed regardless, what they had not expected was that the squad had taken advantage of their new status and re-equipped with better weapons.

Instantly Furion snapped up his bolter and unleashed a salvo, his weapon had been refitted with special vengeance rounds and the bolts hit a Night Lord full on in the chest, the unstable flux cores detonated and ripped the plate apart blowing the Traitor into bloody chunks. Unfortunately there was no time to celebrate as another Heretic pounced upon Furion with a flensing knife and the two fell to the ground in a frenzy of clubbing strikes and stabbing blades.

Meanwhile another Traitor ran at Bylan who met the charge with the Banner of Third Company in his grasp, he wielded the pole two handed like a quarter staff, fighting defensively as he tried to hold back the Heretic. The Night Lord had speed and agility on his side but Bylan had reach and leverage so the two were stalemated, neither able to find the advantage.

Elsewhere Novak was duelling three Traitors at once, his shining sword becoming a whirlwind of deadly parries and ripostes as he danced around their blows, so graceful was he that he made the Heretics look clumsy in comparison. He caught a hacking blow upon his combat shield and lunged underneath with his sword, angling upwards to stab deeply into the Night Lord's guts, the other two tried to seize the moment but Novak pirouetted away taking barely more than a scratch and the duel continued.

Meanwhile Persion and Jediah were facing off against four Night Lords who circled around them like a pack of wolves, the pair slammed back to back for cover and fought on. The Traitors had numbers but the Storm Heralds had far deadlier weapons, Persion wielding a red-hot Friction axe and Jediah a Fractal Edged short sword that flashed out whenever a Traitor came too near.

Elsewhere Toran confronted a Heretic with grizzly human faces draped over his pauldrons and a spinning chainglaive in his grip, the signature weapon of the VIIIth Legion. Toran however had faced such weapons before and knew well how to counter it; he kept his blade low and waited for the Traitor to swing his Chainglaive about to bring the roaring blades to bear.

Toran however stepped within the reach of the weapon and rolled his wrists in a move Novak had taught him so that the blade soared over the Chainglaive's haft to spear the Heretic right through the throat.

Toran barely had time to register his victory before his subconscious screamed that there was another enemy behind him, he pulled back and pivoted on one foot to find a Space Marine standing behind him but not in Night Lords colours. This one wore chipped and battered Storm Herald blue and his bare head revealed a face Toran knew all too well, his hands were raised and he was calling, "Captain stop, it's me: Halis!"

Toran's mind had barely registered the words before his arm was in motion, lunging forwards to plunge his sword into the Traitor's heart but it seemed the blow was expected, even as the point arced forwards the false brother was twisting away. He writhed like a snake so the sword point only carved a deep groove across his breastplate as the mockery of a brother laughed and unsheathed a short power knife that flared with lightning as he cried, "I take it you found out about my little ruse then!"

Toran snarled as his world went red in a mad rush of anger and he launched a blizzard of attacks with his sword, a darting crescendo of thrusts and slashes that should have left his foe dead but the Traitor deflected and parried every strike with sublime skill. Toran was taken aback as he realised the scale of the deception he had been subject to, the skill on display now was every bit the equal of Novak's and the experience showed in every twitch of the blade.

The hard truth was that the Halis Toran had known was never this good.

The pair traded blows at lightning speed, a blistering exchange of attack and defence where neither could find the advantage and Toran was growing increasingly aware that it was only the extra reach of his relic blade that was keeping him alive.

Desperate for a distraction he called, "How could you do this, how could you betray us?!"

"Why not?!" yelled the imposter without pausing in his attacks,"I never cared about any of you, I was laughing at you the whole time, laughing at your smug faces!"

Toran angrily retorted, "No that is not possible, nobody could fake our brotherhood for that long, not even you!"

The Traitor jabbed forward furiously and spat, "You think I am Halis but he was only ever a façade, I am Alpha: Moritat-Prime of the XXth Legion!"

Toran caught the blow on his sword and yelled, "If that were true you could have stabbed me in the back when you had the chance but you hesitated didn't you?!"

Alpha roared in anger and made a clumsy swipe as he yelled, "I am not Halis, Halis is dead and I am Alpha: ALPHA!"

Toran saw it then, the slightest chink in the armour, a psychological weakness he could exploit and he shouted, "Maybe you were once but you have spent too long with us, that's why you didn't want Daite to go with you; you didn't want to kill him. You hesitated before and you hesitate now!"

Alpha screamed, "No, it's not true!" as he made a wild sweep with his sparking knife, Toran leaned back as the energised dagger swept by an inch before his face. Then he pounced forwards bringing the Sword of Thiel up and extending with both hands to drive the point right into the infiltrator's side.

The blade penetrated the armoured plate effortlessly and slid in right up the hilt, spearing deeply within the Traitor's chest. Alpha's eyes went wide and his jaw dropped as the knife fell from his hands, he grasped feebly at Toran's arms for support as he slowly collapsed to the ground,

The Captain was dragged down too as he kept his grip on the sword. Alpha's face went pale for the sword had pierced one lung but had missed his hearts. Still the energy field of the blade was slowly cooking his organs and death was now inevitable. Alpha looked into Toran's eyes, one organic and one augmetic and whispered, "That was very well done, you were so strong… I am proud of you."

Those were the last words Toran had expected to hear and he saw the battle that had been raging within his opponent's heart, he could not help but say, "I was right wasn't I? There was too much of Halis in you."

Alpha shook his head weakly and said, "I thought it was him, I thought it was someone else's memories holding me back but only now at the end can I see that it was me, it was all me. Yes you were right, all those missions and identities I assumed yet I never felt anything like this, I never felt like I belonged somewhere until I became Halis… Are the others hale?"

Toran nodded torn in his heart as he realised despite his hatred of the Traitor he still grieved for the loss of a comrade who had been his friend for so long, he cradled the dying Marine's head as Alpha said, "That is good, they will live on despite everything... Do not tell anyone what I did, it will shatter their spirit and you will need that fire now more than ever."

Toran could not bring himself to say that the squad already knew, he could only swallow as Alpha continued, "You have to be strong now but know that your task is not insurmountable... This is no army Vorshaan is leading, merely a gaggle of warlords, each with their own agenda."

He convulsed and gasped as the pain shot through him, the sword's energy field tearing his insides apart but he gritted his teeth and said in a rush, "Vorshaan will let the others rampage as they will, grinding you down but if you can concentrate your forces and break each in turn then Vorshaan will stand alone. His final objective will be the gene-seed repository; he schemes to make more soldiers for his cause."

Toran was drinking in every word and said, "More?"

"That brute with the axe" whispered Alpha slipping closer to death, "Born from Ophelian's gene-seed, do not underestimate him, he hates all of you with a passion."

"I will not" said Toran as he watched his foe slip away.

Alpha was deathly white now but a faint twitch curled his lip as if he had heard a fine jest and with his last breath he whispered, "Being happy to die as Halis Paur... who would ever have believed it..."

Then he spoke no more.

Toran pulled free his sword and let the corpse fall limp, utterly torn between hatred, regret and sorrow. He heard the pounding of many feet and saw Pyrus squad approaching, their armour was torn and rent but they were all alive, he stood up and said, "The Chaos Marines?"

Furion answered him, "The Night Lords are too accustomed to ambushing those who cannot defend themselves, they are no good in a stand up fight."

The rents in his armour told a different tale but Toran let Furion have his pride as he said, "The one who betrayed us is dead."

Novak spat, "Good riddance... his name shall become a byword for infamy and heresy."

"No!" barked Toran making everybody start in surprise not least of all himself, "No one can know what we have witnessed."

The squad's shock was apparent in their voices as Persion said, "You want to cover this up?!"

Toran faced them and knew for all his treachery the Marine he had known as Halis had been right about one thing, the truth now would crush the fighting spirit of his new-born company. Toran thought upon all the compromises he had been forced to make since being promoted, the pride he had put aside, the half-truths he had uttered and knew that there was no going back. Toran declared, "The battle hangs on a knife's edge and we need every brother to fight harder than ever before, if word of this gets out it will shatter morale and the Fortress will fall."

Bylan was kneading the haft of his banner in distress and said, "+Master, are you asking us to lie?+"

Toran swallowed his principles and said, "For the good of the Company we must, we shall say that a spy murdered Halis and Daite but vengeance has been claimed, our honour in exchange for the life of the Chapter that is the hard path we must walk."

Nobody seemed happy with the idea but Toran refused to let them wallow in misery as he declared, "Now gather your weapons and prepare for battle, we still have a war to win!"


	24. Chapter 24

**Noctem Oritur: Chapter24**

In the Fortress Monastery there was a beautiful park, shaped as a narrow river valley filled with small woods and grassy hillocks and it was oddly serene amid the busy clamour that was daily life in the service of the Chapter. The scene was practically picturesque under the hot sun, spoiled only by the tiniest band of cloud on the distant horizon which hinted at the oncoming Emperor's Storm. The Chapter typically used this park as a training ground for novices to practice manoeuvres in agri-world conditions as well as hone their river crossing skills but today it would witness true warfare.

Scattered throughout the park were small bands of mutant cultists, wandering about in disappointment when they found neither loot to steal nor enemies to sacrifice yet they would not be disappointed long. From the far end of the valley echoed the deep rumble of engines heralding the emergence of a column of armoured vehicles, from a cunningly concealed entrance burst forth the looming shapes of Space Marine vehicles, charging forwards with their tracks spraying thick mud everywhere.

There were six Predators surrounding a dozen Rhino and Razorbacks transports, enough machines to carry a whole company to war and at their head ran three glorious Land Raider Crusaders. The war machines drove through the bands of enemies with ease, blasting aside all resistance to hurtle into the valley, the cultists were scattered by the power of the attack and ran scared as they cried into their vox sets that the Storm Heralds had at last shown their faces.

The armoured column bulldozed forwards while above them flew a single Stormraven, it was being piloted by Hevostan and in its passenger compartment were Sergeant Lorath and his new assault squad. Lorath still bore his twin lightning claws and a bulky jump pack and he was assessing his new squad with grim vigilance.

Lorath had long dreamt of being a Sergeant but had always been told that he lacked the inspiring qualities needed; it was not that he lacked competence or experience but rather that he had little use for fancy speeches and raising morale. Sergeant Nimodes was well aware of this and so had advised him to select his squad purely from Marines of a similar mien, men who preferred to get the job done without fuss or long winded proclamations. Lorath looked at his men and approved, they were all ready and eager for battle and each Marine was making his preparations silently without needing the chatter certain other squads seemed to love so much. Lorath glanced at a timer in his helm's display, counting down a large number and thought back to what had occurred less than an hour earlier.

 _The armourium was a place of busy industry, lines of tanks and transports being hurriedly prepared by serfs and servitors, standing before the war machines were a line of Space Marines, standing ready for inspection by Captain Toran and Sergeant Lorath. These were the crippled and forgotten detritus of the Chapter's wars, those whose augmetics had failed to graft properly or had suffered irreparable nerve damage._

 _Some had shaking hands or were half blind and one' lower body was replaced with an ungainly caterpillar track unit, each one of them was condemned to an inglorious future of training aspirants to join a brotherhood they would forever be denied. Lorath shuddered at the very thought, like any Space Marine he expected to die amongst his brothers, falling in glorious battle as was the right of every initiate, to suffer such a fate as this was a tragedy no Astartes would wish for._

 _Captain Toran was pacing up and down before the cripples, glaring at each in turn as he spoke, "Men I have heard what the rumours say about you, they say you are spent, they say you are weak, they say you are unfit to fight!" Lorath saw the cripples stiffen at the words knowing that each of them had heard the not so subtle whispers behind their backs and how it made their hackle's rise to be thought of as lesser than their kin._

 _Yet Toran was not done, "But I say different, I say there remain stout hearts amongst you, I say there is yet fire in your eyes, fire enough for one last fight!" He stopped and spun about to face them straight on declaring, "What I have not heard is your voices, what say you: a peaceful retirement waiting for death to find you in your beds or one last charge: to Glory and Death!"_

 _Lorath found the speech to be bombastic and overwrought but the throng responded heartily as they began beating their fists on their chest plates in a staccato drumbeat and roaring, "Glory and Death!" as their fists went Rat-tata-rat, Rat-tata-rat, "Glory and Death! Rat-tata-rat, "Glory and Death!""_

 _Toran shouted in response, "Today you are Battle-Brothers once more, to your vehicles Space Marines and let the enemy shudder before your wrath!"_

 _The crippled instructors limped to obey, energised by the thought of at last fulfilling their hopeless dream of fighting and dying in battle._

Lorath was snapped back to reality as an alarm rang in his ears and Hevostan cried, "Contact!", he tied in his armour to the gunship's Machine Spirit and watched through its eyes as events unfolded below. From the far end of the valley thousands upon thousands of mutants were flooding into the area, a fresh tide of enemies seeking to cut off the armoured column and drown them in bodies. Lorath magnified his gaze and saw giant power armoured forms amongst them, each bloated and festering as they lumbered forwards, he instantly recognised the silhouette of Plague Marines and knew that they had come to claim the glory of killing the Storm Heralds.

As Lorath watched on the armoured column drove forwards, meeting the oncoming heretics at full speed, heavy bolters blazed and autocannons fired unceasingly as they ploughed into enemy's ranks to crush cultists under their grinding treads. Hundreds of mutants were cut down in the first five seconds and then the Land Raiders opened fire, a blitzkrieg of annihilation swept out from them in every direction decimating everything they targeted. The Crusader's hurricane bolters and assault canons obliterated a wide swathe of the enemy all around them, carving a wide path in the crowds of heretics for the Rhinos to follow.

The cultists had been devastated by the power of the attack but from their wasted ranks lumbered the bloated forms of the Plague Marines, charging through the oncoming fire and shrugging off the onslaught with sneering contempt. High above Lorath saw their counter charge and called, "Take us over them!" and the Stormraven lurched as it banked around, immediately the assault squad lined up at the side hatches, their brusque preparations pleasing Lorath with their blunt efficiency.

The Sergeant opened the hatch and peered out to see the first Plague Marines just about to reach the Land Raiders and threw himself out to plummet to the ground, the wind howled around him as he dived towards the foe but they were not caught unprepared. The Chaos Marines saw them coming and instantly raised their bolters to fire upwards, dozens of weapons unleashing a torrent of rounds that caught one of the squad full on tearing him apart. Lorath snarled to see one of the life signs wink out in his vision but then his jump pack fired and he hit the enemy like a wrecking ball.

His landing caught a Plague Marine full on with his lightning claws stabbing downwards but the disgusting creature merely rocked back and laughed at the multiple blades penetrating its diseased flesh. Lorath roared in anger and pulled his arms apart, ripping the vile thing into a dozen stinking chunks that fell to the ground to stain it black. The rest of his squad hit the foe with chainswords roaring but the Plague Marines were disgustingly resilient and only one more fell, in return they hacked out with rusty cleavers that should have made no impression on power armour but in fact cut it like damp parchment. The battle became close and bloody, the squad had hit hard but the Plague Marines had both numbers and the gifts of the Warp.

Behind them the tanks were pouring out fire but the tide against them was rising and they were drowning in diseased flesh. From every corner more cultists raced into the valley, desperate to crush the Storm Heralds in one titanic hammer blow, there must have been twenty thousand filthy heretics filling the valley and the Space Marines were but a tiny island of resistance.

Lorath saw another of his squad mates torn apart by mould covered Plague Marine, he swiftly exacted vengeance with a decapitating sweep of his claws but then was confronted by something far more terrible. Striding among the hunched masses was a towering warrior, this one was no mere soldier but obviously a Warlord, wielding a massive scythe and dripping putrid fluids onto the ground from cracks in his armour. He bulldozed aside his lesser brethren and levelled the scythe at the Sergeant bellowing, "Face me; face Killorn beloved of the Grandfather!"

Lorath however wasn't looking for his vision was fixed on a dark shape diving upon them from on high; it was the Stormraven making a second pass, flying slowly with its ramp open. Lorath judged the distance with an expert eye and compared it to the countdown still running in his vision and realised his time had run out. Lorath declared, "I don't have to face you, you have already lost" as he triggered his jump pack and surged into the sky on a trail of fire, the eight survivors of his squad followed him and with expert precision they leapt one by one onto the Stormraven's open ramp.

Lorath pounded within and even as the ramp closed behind them yelled, "Go, go, go!" The gunship accelerated away leaving the embattled ground vehicles behind in a sea of foes, the veterans within emptying their magazines in a storm of fire and then the countdown hit zero.

There was a second's pause then as one every Rhino, Predator and Land Raider erupted in a blazing plume of pure white light.

The enemy had mistakenly believed the column was delivering an army but in fact every machine was packed to the brim with concentrated Promethium jelly and chemical accelerants. A thousand pounds of the mix could have brought down a hab block and between them the transports were carrying over thirty tonnes of explosives.

A blazing fireball swept outwards, confined by the valley walls to create a rolling wave of destruction, every foe present was burnt to ash in seconds, not even Plague Marines could withstand the purifying flames engulfing them. They fell in crumpled piles of ashes and blackened ceramite chunks as the park burnt around them, leaving behind only a scorched desert where once there had been beauty and peace.

The supposedly crippled and forgotten detritus of the Chapter achieved a death so glorious that for centuries to come initiates would listen on in wonder and envy because through the great sacrifice Killorn and his pestilent host were obliterated along with a full quarter of Vorshaan's army. Meanwhile the Stormraven pushed itself hard to escape the destruction, disappearing into the sky and leaving behind it a shining pyre to supreme heroism amid a charnel house of ashes.


	25. Chapter 25

**Noctem Oritur: Chapter 25**

In the deepest parts of the monastery there was an echoing catacomb, triple sealed and hidden away, the vault's walls were built out of thick slabs of inert lead and obsidian and they were covered in arcane wards of aversion and abjuration. The space stretched away into darkness and was filled with shadows that hid large alcoves.

The cells were portioned off by tinted armourglass walls with no doors or hatches, the things sequestered here were not meant to be removed under any circumstances. Even the destruction of the Fortress and the death of the Chapter itself would not justify releasing these horrors upon the galaxy. History had taught humanity hard lessons that there were some things too perilous to ever be wielded, not even by the purest of heart.

The vault was hidden away behind cunningly wrought disguises and completely sealed off so that even the raging waters flooding the lower levels of the Fortress did not trouble the interior. This crypt was meant to stay isolated and untroubled at all times, not even guards were permitted lest the horrors within reached out to corrupt and twist their minds. Only the sternest of character were allowed to visit this place and then only when there was something to add to the contents, so it was disturbing that today there was the crump of armoured footfalls echoing within.

Marching down the centre of the space was a Marine clad in brilliant blue plate decorated with secret sigils and arcane emblems, at his waist hung a thick book and his helm bore two golden crests that touched above his head, it was Yuikai and he was here looking for something. Behind him in geomantically precise lines marched nine figures in armour only slightly less brilliant than the Sorcerer's own, they marched in complete silence and there was a curious lethargy to their movements for they were the tragic and doomed Rubricae.

Yuikai strode confidently down the centre of the vault sticking to a narrow band of light running between the cells; he glanced at the various alcoves as he passed by, the tinted armourglass not hindering his ethereal senses at all. Some of the alcoves made him pause for a second in longing, others he merely shook his head at as if astonishing by the ignorance displayed by locking such trifles away. Yet a few he hurried by without looking inside as if even he were troubled by their contents.

For long minutes the party pressed onwards, passing wonder and nightmare alike as they sought out their goal with the confidence that they were totally alone. Then suddenly Yuikai stopped to stare at one particular cell, he looked it up and down then uttered an arcane syllable. The tinted glass turned transparent to reveal a compact library in its own right, stacks of shelves holding volume after volume of thick leather bound tomes.

Yuikai spat another word but was shocked when nothing happened, he stepped right up to the armourglass and placed one hand on it as if astonished that it still existed after his utterance. He craned his head back to peer at the wards inscribed around the barrier, confident that such elementary impediments would not defeat a Magister of the Thousand Sons for long.

He was pondering how to break through when he was interrupted by a voice calling out, "Having problems?"

As one the entire group spun about, the Rubricae's lethargy lifted now action loomed and they found a single Storm Herald standing behind them in the shadows. He stepped forwards and the interloper was revealed to be Sergeant Priyar holding his power maul.

Yuikai that saw he was alone and waved the Rubricae back confident that he could deal with any threat as he said, "Clever of you to use the wards to hide from my psychic scans but don't think my ability to kill you is in any way diminished by these scratchings."

Priyar ignored the threat and said conversationally, "So you finally came here, I knew you would, I knew as soon as word came that Vorshaan had a powerful sorcerer with him that it had to be you."

Yuikai cocked his head to one side and said, "Am I supposed to know who you are?"

Priyar replied, "I suppose you wouldn't remember me, I was but a humble initiate when the Storm Heralds fought the Thousand Sons but I remember you and the nightmares you unleashed, just as I remember what it was that you sought."

Yuikai seemed irked to hear those words and snarled, "You ignorant savages stole it from us and you don't even know what it was you took, you have no idea of its significance."

"Oh but I do" said Priyar, "Prospero, it all comes back to Prospero with your kind."

Yuikai spat angrily, "Don't say that name you know nothing of what you speak, you don't know our nightmare, you weren't there!"

Priyar replied coolly, "I know enough, I know you don't mourn the loss of the facilities or the people or even the planet that died when Leman Russ brought the Space Wolves to your door. It's the knowledge, that's what you mourn, the loss of knowledge."

Yuikai was truly incensed now and spat, "Our Libraries held the greatest collection of learning mankind has ever known, the pinnacle of human achievement and they burned it, those by-blows with their canine fetish burned it all! Even that which was harmless, even that which was beautiful and pure, they piled it all up like it was just wood for their primitive hearths and torched it!"

Priyar probed further saying, "But you have tried to rebuild it, haven't you?"

Yuikai spat "You have no idea what it is like to spend ten thousand years piecing together what was lost but it is an impossible task. There was too much material and never enough of us to memorise it all, not even Magnus had time enough to read each line in every scroll and book."

Priyar took up the narrative saying, "That's what gnaws at you isn't it, you will never know if there is some obscure text missing, one lone scroll yet to be found. It must nag at you like a rotten tooth, the fact that you will never know if you have finished your work, never know if you have completed your collection. But with the contents of that cell you would, with that you would possess a full list of every scroll, data crystal and book kept on Prospero before it burned."

"The Index of Tizca," breathed Yuikai reverently, "You will give it to me or I will burn your world to ash."

"Never" said Priyar raising his power maul between them.

Yuikai said condescendingly, "Just try to use that bit of gristle between your ears for once, if you give me what I want I will take my forces and depart, you can remove a good portion of Vorshaan's army at a stroke. More enemies routed by doing nothing than you could ever achieve with those crude bolters, you might even be able to turn the tide and save your home."

"No" rebuked Priyar, "All that knowledge and yet you never learned wisdom, you never learned that somethings are not worth the sacrifice it takes to get them, that some prizes come with too high a price. Making deals with the wellspring of corruption, thinking that you could treat with the Warp and Chaos itself without consequence, that's where it all started to go wrong and you are a fool to think I will allow it to happen again."

Behind Yuikai the Rubricae snapped up their bolters and the Sorcerer said smugly, "Tell me exactly how you planned to stop us all by yourself?"

Now it was Priyar grinning under his helm and he replied, "What makes you think I came here alone?"

Even as the words left his mouth the shadows lit up with the flare of bolter fire as nine more Astartes revealed themselves, their salvo hit the Rubricae dead on and blew chunks from their ornate gilded armour. A squad of conventional Astartes would have been hammered by the impacts, a few of them would even have been killed outright but the Rubricae seemed untroubled.

With gaping craters in their armour they ponderously turned about and let fly with bolters that spat rounds which left tracers of daemonic flames hanging in the air. One of Priyar's squad took the salvo in the chest and the rounds melted the plate effortlessly to punch into the flesh beneath.

The Marine shrieked hideously as his soul was consumed by the sorcerous rounds but the squad was not done yet. From behind them built a thunderous roar and then a shining ball of starlight flew out of the darkness, a Plasma Canon blast hitting one of the Rubricae and melting the undead being into slag.

The crossfire was intense and both sides sought what little cover there was to avoid being hit but Yuikai stood proudly in the midst of the bedlam and yelled, "You pretend to know our nightmares, then maybe you should experience them yourself!"

He thrust both hands forwards and from them leapt streams of multi-hued energy that shot forwards and wrapped themselves around one of Priyar's squad mates. For a single second nothing happened then an unearthly scream ripped out of the Space Marine and he began to convulse and thrash.

His armour creaked for a moment then split at the joints and masses of heaving, pulsating flesh erupted out of the joints spilling out like clay from a broken mould. The mound of muscles and blubber grew and grew becoming monstrously vast and in the skin mouths formed and insectile eyes blinked in horror as the nightmare of the Flesh Change was unleashed.

Priyar was horrified by the sight and knew his supposed ambush had in fact turned into a trap for his own men but he did not let that slow him down. He drew in a breath and shouted three words loudly above the clamour of battle triggering a response in the vault's inbuilt Machine Spirit.

Inside the sealed alcove multiple nozzles suddenly jutted out from the walls and ceiling, activated by the key phrase they ejected sheets of burning flame into the space, setting each and every tome on fire. Yuikai screamed at the sight and leapt at the glass walls, he summoned a blade of unlight and began to carve a doorway into the thick glass.

He was desperate to save the index from the flames, to prevent another mass book burning like he had seen on Tizca and was totally focused on stopping history repeating itself. Thus he was oblivious when Priyar leapt from behind him and brought a power maul down hard on his head, smashing his skull to pieces and spraying brain matter over the walls.

Instantly the Rubricae lost all co-ordination becoming listless and feeble in their movements and the survivors of Priyar's squad quickly cut them down with concentrated volleys of bolter fire. Priyar was breathing hard from the exertion and knew that he had come within an inch of losing everything but he still had one task left to perform.

Reluctantly he marched over to the quivering mass of flesh that had once been a friend and amid the heaving mutations he swore he could see a pair of human eyes, silently pleading for death. Priyar wasted no time on words but brought his power maul down in one mighty strike to grant the final peace to his lost brother.

Priyar looked about the bodies of his brothers laying amid piles of empty Rubricae armour that were spilling dust instead of blood and declared, "Some prizes come with too high a price."


	26. Chapter 26

**Noctem Oritur: Chapter 26**

The thunder of bolters filled the stairwell as streams of bolt rounds hurtled down at the mobs of cultists climbing upwards, bodies were torn apart by the mass reactive rounds and fell down to impede those behind. Still they pressed forwards for their sheer numbers made it impossible to hold them back forever; they kicked aside their dead and ran upwards again and again each time making it a few steps higher.

Standing behind cultists was Vorshaan the Dusk Prince and he was seething in frustration, this delicate minaret was home to the loyalist's Chapter Master and he had intended to personally lead its capture. This was not just a symbolic gesture; the Chapter Master's chamber would house critical intelligence on Imperial dispositions for the entire Sector not to mention potent relics.

This should have been an easy mission but a squad of Loyalists had decided to make a fight of it and had made his forces bleed for every step. Ahead Vorshaan could see seven Storm Heralds manning a barricade, four armed with bolters and a Sergeant with a Thunder Hammer and combat shield. The Imperials would lay down barrages of fire as his mutants pressed upwards and whenever a knot of them closed the Sergeant would smash them apart with weighty blows of his hammer.

Yet the real danger came from another pair of loyalists who bore massive Grav-canons, the rare and temperamental weapons proving lethal to heavily armoured Chaos Marines. He had already lost a half dozen of his murderers to the heavy weapons, the graviton distortions crushing them into paste before his very eyes. Vorshaan had not survived for ten millennia by being stupid and had decided to let his worthless cultists absorb the brunt of the fighting before committing himself.

Vorshaan saw a thick knot of cultists finally make it close enough to assault the barricade but the loyalists were not waiting to greet them, the sergeant was instead waving his men back and in pairs the defenders broke away. They did so in staged waves to provide covering fire for each pair to disengage, swiftly the squad withdrew over the angle of the stairs to the next barricade in an efficient orderly manner.

This had been the pattern from the start, the loyalists refusing to be tied down and using the teachings of their blasted codex to turn what should have been a straight forward assault into a bloody meatgrinder. Vorshaan despised the Codex Astartes for its prescriptive teachings, he held it in contempt for its dull, unimaginative strategies but most all he hated it for how bloody efficient it made the Imperials at killing his troops.

But at last Vorshaan grinned as mobs of mutants ran up the steps for this was the very top of the tower and now the Imperials had nowhere else to fall back to, they were finally trapped. Still he took care not to run, the Loyalists had demonstrated surprising levels of cunning so far and he was not about to fall for some last ploy.

It proved a wise precaution for as the first mutants crested the top of the stairs they were ripped apart by a devastating volley of fire, a hurricane of devastation that was beyond the capacity of humble bolters. Vorshaan's grin widened as his instincts were proven right, the Imperials did have one last card to play, that concentration of firepower could only be produced by Centurions.

Vorshaan signalled his retinue of Astartes to prepare, they knew the coming charge would be bloody but each one was undoubtedly plotting to make sure that it was his fellows who would pay the butcher's bill. The Dusk Prince yelled "charge!" and together twenty Night Lords rose over the top of the stairs and sprinted forwards into the hail of enemy fire.

They emerged into a long atrium, with one whole wall made up of a long armourglass panel that gave a stunning view of the wreckage of the Fortress. Loitering at the far end of the gallery were the loyalists who were finally trapped with nowhere to go but before them loomed three Centurion warsuits. The exoskeletons were half again as tall as conventional Marines and had thick reinforced plates facing front, each warrior bearing a pair of heavy bolters and their chests were covered in the barrels of hurricane bolters.

The Night Lords charged as a mob, each Marine trying to keep one of his kin between himself and the oncoming fire as the Heavy Bolter rounds fell upon them. The weight of fire was impressive but they were making swift progress anyway but then the hurricane bolters opened fire.

A veritable blizzard erupted from the Centurions, tracers so thick it seemed the air was bisected by horizontal streaks of fire. Vorshaan's Marines were inundated by the fusillade, ancient baroque armour shattering under the fury of the barrage, Astartes after Astartes collapsing as their insides were blown apart.

Vorshaan snatched up a falling body and held it up before him as an ablative shield as he ran, he saw fallen bodies and a quick count told him eight of his murderous kin had fallen to the Loyalist's fire. Yet despite the cost he had successfully closed the distance and at last he could bring the fight to the Centurions.

Vorshaan dropped his meat shield and drew his twin curved blades, leaping forwards to slash at the first Centurion's armour, he could barely reach the abdomen yet his cursed swords easily tore apart the reinforced plates to spill guts and entrails to the floor. He saw the rest of his retinue engulf another centurion, dodging behind it to hamstring the warrior and make him topple where their knives could reach the vulnerable joints.

The last Centurion was swinging his arms about, laying down torrents of fire from his heavy bolters but above the roar Vorshaan heard the warrior shouting, "Sergeant Zeax, fall back now, I will buy you the time!"

From the corner of his eye Vorshaan saw a panel disappearing in the wall to reveal a gap and as he watched the Imperials dived into the space and dropped away with the distinctive whoosh of a Grav-chute bearing them to safety. Vorshaan snarled in anger, it seemed the loyalists had not intended to die here after all and the last one out was the Sergeant who saluted his doomed brother with his thunder hammer before disappearing.

Vorshaan roared in frustration at his prey's escape and he leapt at the last Centurion, beating his wings to lift himself higher and with one scything blow he decapitated his opponent. The rigid exoskeleton stood for a moment as blood fountained from the severed neck and then it toppled over like a felled tree, hitting the floor with an almighty crash as Vorshaan landed gracefully on his feet.

The Dusk Prince took a single moment to assess his victory then bounced forwards, intending to pursue the Storm Heralds down the grav-chute and finish the fight, yet he was stopped when an unexpected vibration ran through the floor and a distant boom echoed up from deep below. Before anyone could react the entire minaret swayed drunkenly, everybody staggered as they tried to understand what was happening, everybody except for Vorshaan who was already in motion.

As everyone stared stupidly about the Dusk Prince was running full pace straight at the armourglass window and slashing his twin swords before him to create a cross shaped incision, then he dived head first at the weakened pane. He crashed through to the outside and plummeted towards the ground for long seconds before his wings caught the wind and he soared free, the unlight of the Warp shimmering around him to lift him far higher than such flimsy membranes could have done alone.

He rose to a great height then curved around to look behind him and what he saw made him snarl furiously as the Chapter Master's minaret imploded, brought down by seismic charges laid in the foundations. Even as he watched thousands of tonnes of masonry collapsed into choking dust, like a great ship sinking bow first beneath the waves and taking thousands of his troops down with it.

Vorshaan howled in frustrated rage as he realised the whole edifice had been turned into one giant trap, he had just wasted thousands of cultists and a score of precious Chaos Marines for nothing. No doubt the Storm Heralds who had escaped were laughing at him even now; safe deep below the surface, not even the thought that their Chapter Master would undoubtedly be furious with them when he returned was any solace to Vorshaan's ire. Then the Dusk Prince started in surprise as he realised that he was thinking he actually might not win this battle.

Vorshaan's anger grew and as he circled the thick haze of stone dust billowing out from the demolition site he opened a Vox link to yell, "Beta, Beta come in or I will skin you alive!"

The vox snarled with static but a distant tinny voice came in saying, "Lord Vorshaan I hear you, fighting is heavy beneath the Fortress, how goes the war on the surface?"

"It's going backwards, Killorn is dead and the Storm Heralds are demolishing their own home around our ears" barked Vorshaan, "Where the hell is Alpha?!"

Beta paused then replied, "There has been no contact from him for some time."

Vorshaan growled, "Then he is dead."

"Surely not" said Beta, "Alpha is a patient hunter, he may just be biding his time."

"No" replied Vorshaan, "The lapdog's defences are too well organised and efficient, somebody out there is still giving orders which mean Alpha failed us. If he is not dead already I will kill him myself."

Beta didn't seem troubled by the thought and said, "So what now?"

Vorshaan replied, "Now we get serious, the lapdogs are seeking to bleed us by a thousand cuts so it's time to stop playing their game and end this once and for all. Summon the Warlords and tell them we are making our big push, we will drive right into the heart of the Fortress and shatter them with one crushing blow."

Beta replied, "There is a problem, Jubila's army has abandoned the fighting, they are just looting all they can."

"Typical of the Emperor's Children, this is the siege of Terra all over again" snarled Vorshaan, "What of Yuikai?"

"Disappeared and I suspect he is dead" stated Beta frankly, "His cultists are milling about uselessly without him, the only Warlord actually doing what he's supposed to is Thessus."

Vorshaan began circling down to the ground as the dust settled and said, "Go tell him the greatest slaughter can be found in the centre of the Fortress and let him do what he does best. Then find Jubila and get him into the fight, if he doesn't start making himself useful you can tell Gamma to take his head."

"And what will you be doing?" asked Beta.

"I am going to gather my personal retinue and seize the gene-seed repository" said Vorshaan.

Beta cautioned, "My Lord your Night Lords are scattered all over the Fortress gathering them will take time."

"That's why Thessus will go first" barked Vorshaan, "I will finish off whatever's left if he fails, one way or another its time these Storm Heralds died."


	27. Chapter 27

**Noctem Oritur: Chapter 27**

In musty grain silo the surviving Storm Heralds had converged, this space was most undignified place for a Company to regroup but such considerations were long forgotten now, the place was secure and hidden so today it would serve as an arming chamber. The fighting had taken a brief pause so this was the first opportunity the Company had seen to together since the battle had started.

Every brother and scout took the opportunity to restock from ammo crates and replace broken weapons, they were bloodied and scarred but their grim determination was undiminished. In the centre of the space stood Ajax, not speaking to anyone but the angry growl of his engines made it clear he would rather be in battle.

On piled crates of bolter rounds Captain Toran and his Sergeants were pouring over maps of the Fortress, assessing the situation and updating their strategies. Nimodes was speaking saying, "Fighting continues on every level but the perimeter is holding, the serfs have drawn a line in the sand and the enemy seems unwilling to cross it, in fact they are pulling back in many places."

Sergeant Mylos spoke up to say, "That is not right, the Traitors should be pushing forwards not pulling back."

Toran agreed saying, "Vorshaan will not retreat now so this calm must be the prelude to something new, he is changing tactics."

Furion spoke up to say, "The only reason to pull back now would be to mass his forces for an overwhelming attack, he must be planning to crush us in one titanic blow."

Mylos countered, "That is a dangerous assumption, we should be cautious of thinking we know the enemy's intentions."

"No he is right" said Nimodes, "Consider that the invaders are against a clock, the Emperor's Storm will arrive in barely over a Terran day, they know they have to break us before it hits or we will have time to retrench and refortify our positions."

Mylos rubbed his chin and said, "Then we have a problem, we have bled the enemy by refusing to be tied down but if they come at us all at once they can annihilate us effortlessly."

"Perhaps not" said Furion,"Not we can if we can hold them in a bottleneck, someplace confined, with good firing lines and no possibility of being outflanked."

Toran eyed his Command Sergeant and said, "You are planning something aren't you?"

Furion nodded and replied, "Daite blocked off all the major access ways into the Fortress save for one, the great processional that leads right up to the doors of the Forges. If the enemy plans to come at us in strength there is no other way to move such numbers through the Fortress Monastery."

"Then that is where we shall meet them" declared Toran knowing there was no avoiding the coming battle, "Ready for your squads for inspection and send every serf who can be spared from the line to man the barricades outside the Forges, much will rest upon their supporting fire when we meet the foe."

The Sergeants made the sign of the Aquilla and hurried away to assemble their squads but Mylos paused and said, "You don't really believe we can beat them do you?"

Toran didn't want to answer that question so instead he said, "I believe we have to try, this is the moment upon which the whole war will pivot, if we falter now we lose everything."

Mylos walked away with a shake of his head leaving Toran to reflect on his words and he knew the Sergeant was right, their entire strategy rested on keeping the enemy off balance and on their willingness to sacrifice material space in place of the lives of battle brothers. To meet the foe head on gave them all the advantages but there were no other options left, the pivotal battle was here and he needed to throw everything he had into it.

Toran waited as the squads formed up into parade lines then he paced forwards, first of all was Nimodes and three score scouts. The youths were looking extremely young and scared, with their shaven heads and raw input sockets sticking out from under their carapace armour. In the normal state of affairs their training, hypno-indoctrination and gene-forging would have been given another decade to mature yet they had been flung into the fiercest of battles regardless.

Then there were the initiates standing stiffly in line and Toran could see the battering they had already taken, the weariness in their eyes and the injuries they pretended to ignore. He saw how few of them remained and took a quick head count, including himself there were only thirty seven Space Marines and most of those looked like they needed a week in the Apothecarion already.

Toran looked at his Marine's bare faces, seeing their strength, their resolution and their determination but what he was not seeing was any expectation that they would live to see the next day. The Captain recognised that not one of his Marines thought they could win this coming battle and he realised that without the confidence of victory there truly was no way to win. He needed to change that, he alone could turn this around and to do that he needed to do something he had desperately wanted to avoid.

Before he could change his mind Toran drew his blade and held it high for all to see as he declared, "This is the Sword of Thiel and you all know it is only borne by the greatest heroes of our Chapter, the names of every Marine who has carried it blazes within the histories you have been told. Bearing this sword is an honour but also a burden for even to touch it is to be marked out for greatness in the eyes of the Chapter."

Toran let that sink for a moment then stated, "Greatness is what I expect from each and every one of you in the coming battle, which is why you shall join me in this honour."

He stepped briskly up to the first brother in line and saw it was Sergeant Mylos, Toran looked him in the eye as he held out the blade laterally between them and said, "Lay you hand upon the sword."

"What?!"" exclaimed Mylos, his face a picture of utter shock as he repeated, "But... I... What?!"

"Hold out your hand" commanded the Captain firmly and the Sergeant obeyed by holding his gauntlet out palm up.

Toran pressed the flat of the blade onto Mylos' hand, firmly enough to make sure he felt it but not long enough to give him a sense of its weight or quality. Toran didn't give him time to dwell but moved on to the next brother in the line and the next, repeating the process again and again.

He worked his way up one squad then down the next and once he had done all the initiates he passed amongst the scouts, making sure not to leave anyone out. Ajax was a challenge but he stood silently as Toran pressed the blade against his metal fist, then he moved onto his own squad and Furion was the last to touch the Sword.

Toran stepped back and looked at his mystified Astartes declaring loudly, "You all know this sword has a history but what you do not know is how far back that history goes. This blade belonged to the great hero of the Horus Heresy Aeonid Thiel and it was presented to him by no less than the hand of our Primarch!"

The Captain saw everybody's eyes widen in surprise at the proclamation as he continued, "This blade bears a legacy stretching back to Roboute Guilliman and that inheritance has passed from the hand of one brother to another since our founding, each bearer has become a part of it and now you too share that heritage."

The assembled Marine's faces were caricatures of awe and wonder, Toran spied several of them surreptitiously glancing at their own hands as if expecting to see some aura of divine splendour lingering there, some hint of connection to their long lost gene-sire. Toran felt bemused at how easily his fellow Space Marines could fall into superstitious reverence but today that was a trait he could use, a flaw he could exploit to his own ends.

The Captain stood proudly before them and declared, "Today you are no longer humble initiates, today you have become part of something grander, a brotherhood above and beyond what you have known before. Only the greatest of our heroes have known this burden and now so too do you, you are forevermore guardians of that legacy, inheritors to the glory bestowed upon us by our gene-sire."

Toran proclaimed loudly for all to hear, "Henceforth all shall look upon you and know you as the Primarch's Own!"

The Captain had never seen Astartes look prouder or more eager for the fray than the company now stood before him, every one of them energised by the slightest reaffirmation of their relationship to their gene-sire. Toran swallowed his revulsion at his next words and played the role he needed to, he raised his blade high for all to see and crying, "To battle Space Marines and know that none shall stand against you for the Spirit of Roboute Guilliman is with us!"

As one the squads turned and ran from the silo, each marine griping their weapons eagerly and jamming their helms on with unseemly haste, they were filled with righteous zeal and total confidence of victory. They were followed by the lumbering form of Ajax who made the ground shake as he stomped out, Toran watched them go but there was one other who did not leave, it was Furion and he stood with his Captain as the Marines ran past.

Furion waited until they were alone then he said, "That was very well done."

"Don't praise me" spat Toran ashamed at himself, "I just ordered us to our deaths."

Furion cocked his head and asked "What do you mean?"

Toran was still holding the Sword of Thiel and lifted it slightly as he said, "Furion it's a sword, well made true but still just a mundane weapon, there is no aura of divine splendour or holy light playing along its edge. The Traitors are bringing armies to bear and all I have to offer my men are pretty lies to make them think they stand a chance."

"Permission to speak freely" said Furion and when Toran nodded said, "Captain you have done remarkable things but sometimes I think you do not really understand your brethren, each and every one of those Astartes feels like he could close the Eye of Terror single handed right now. Maybe you don't have any divine gifts but never underestimate the power of morale, those men entered this room defeated in spirit and they leave it already victorious in their hearts, they are ready to fight like the mightiest of Champions."

Toran looked up at his wise brother and said, "You think we actually have a chance?"

Furion's reply was, "I am not capable of pity but if were then I would be feeling it for anyone who tries to stand against those Marines right now."

Toran couldn't help but smile wryly at the comment and felt his own spirit lift as he said, "Come on then let us catch up, we have a war to win."


	28. Chapter 28

**Noctem Oritur: Chapter 28**

The name grand processional conjured certain images, a proud concourse, glorious frescos and triumphal choirs on high galleries. The route to the Forges would certainly fit those preconceptions but as it was dedicated to the Omnissiah there were certain differences also.

The concourse was wide enough for six Land Raiders to pass along and tall enough for a warhound Titan to stride along. The frescos were of binary formulas, the choirs were made up of servo skulls and cyber cherubs while the high galleries were plain metal walkways. Normally the space was filled with the noises of industry and manufacturing but today the clamour was solely formed by the destruction of battle.

Before the great Adamantium doors to the Forge long lines of sandbags and plasteel barricades had been set up and behind them men and marines were dug in, fighting for all they were worth. Heavy weapon emplacements were set up everywhere, streaming tracers and tongues of fire incessantly as an expression of defiance while Astartes fired precise burst over the tops of the barricades. The thunder and noise was deafening, indeed many serfs were bleeding from their ears but they dare not relent, not even for a moment.

Racing towards the lines of defenders were masses of ragged cultists, bearing brands of the blood god and blood stained knives in twisted mutated digits. They ran forwards into the teeth of the oncoming fire, heedless of their pain or losses as they screamed their bloodlust, the madness of the Warp was in them and nothing save death itself could deter their advance.

Standing among the defenders Captain Toran was panning his Master crafted bolter back and forth, he fired a precise burst that took down a mutant with a bull's head and scanned for another target worthy of his attention. The noise of battle filled the whole world but his Lyman's ear let him distinguish between the barking of serf autoguns from the deeper booms of his squad's bolsters, he could discern the crump of mortars firing punctuating from the roar of heavy bolters and the hiss of lascanon power cells discharging.

The combined weight of firepower was holding the heretics at bay but only just, the smallest slip could doom them all. Even as Toran thought it there was the screeching noise of a heavy bolter jamming as its desperate crew fired too long and overheated it and he snarled at the loss of even a single gun's fury. The Captain didn't take his eyes off the foe but ordered, "Furion, get the serfs back into order."

Standing next to him the giant Space Marine turned and before panic could spread among the mortals he bellowed, "Hold Fast men of the Imperium! Pick your targets, short controlled bursts only and someone get that damned gun cooled. I don't care if you have to piss on the barrel but you better fix it before I come over there and strip the skin from your backs!"

The serfs hurried to obey but it was too late for the cultists had surged forwards, charging in a mass of heaving screaming flesh, their eyes were red and their knives were sharp. Toran and his squads met them with a torrent of bolter fire but the enemy kept coming regardless, he waited until the last moment then the captain cried, "Flamers!"

From across the line erupted plumes of promethium, the weapon specialists of Priyar's and Mylos' squads letting loose with Flamers and Heavy Flamers. The gouts of burning flame engulfed the oncoming cultists and set them alight, they flailed and screamed in agony as they fell down, tripping those behind.

The charge faltered and stalled leaving the rest of the foe milling around just waiting to be cut down yet the danger was not over, from the milling throng emerged a trio of armoured giants branded with the marks of Khorne. They were clad in gore streaked brass armour and carried vicious chain axes that dropped blood, Toran saw the Khorne berserkers closing and yelled, "Zeax, take them down!"

From both flanks came the unique whine of Grav Canons discharging to catch the Berserkers in a crossfire, the spatial distortions were invisible but the effects were not. Two of the Berserkers instantly twisted in the tangled knot of graviton particles, limbs snapping and armour plate imploding like a used ration tin in a fist, they fell as mangled wrecks of flesh and gore but one other survived and raced forwards screaming, "Blood for the Blood God!"

Toran's hand fell to his sword but before he could draw it a shining ball of plasma shot out from further down the line and caught the Berserker right in the chest. The baroque plate failed under the intensity of the blast and the Chaos Marine toppled to the ground, silent at last as his corpse steamed boiling blood and viscera.

Toran glanced to his right and saw Sergeant Mylos hefting a combi-plasma gun around to finish off the last of the cultists with precise bursts of bolt rounds. The last opponents fell and Toran breathed deeply as he realised they had held one more wave, he felt weary to the bone but they had held the line for a few more minutes.

This has been the pattern for hours now, the Chaos Warlord sending waves of cultists straight up the Grand Processional right into the teeth of the defender's guns. The floor was a carpet of stinking corpses as far as the eye could see, yet that had not deterred the idolaters of Chaos in the slightest.

Toran took the few seconds of respite before they came again to review his own forces, to his left and his right ran lines of defences comprised of gun servitors, tarantula sentry guns and armed serfs. They had autoguns and a variety of heavy weapons, which even now were being reloaded with supplies being brought out of a postern gate in the Forge's doors.

The serfs were only mortals but without their fire support the battle would already have been lost, Toran looked upon their grim but determined faces and found himself revising his opinion of mere men. Their courage could be dauntless if they were well led, it also helped that they knew their families were sheltering within the Forges and this was the only line of defence.

To bolster their courage he had spread his tactical squads thinly along the line, Priyar's and Mylos' Marines standing as a shining example right where the Serfs could see them. Zeax's Devastators however held the far ends of the line, their heavy weapons proving vital in securing the flanks.

Standing to the rear, right in front of the great doors brother Hevostan was reverently tending to a Thunderfire canon. Getting the Forgemaster to release even one had been a challenge, especially after the stunt with the Land Raiders, still he had reluctantly agreed once they had pointed out the Forge itself was at risk.

Meanwhile Nimodes had positioned his scouts high above on the gantries, where their reach would be limitless. Their sniper rifles and stalker bolters had proved essential already and the novices should be proud of their accomplishments so far.

Finally there was Lorath's assault squad, who had exchanged their jump packs for boarding shields while they held the centre. Toran's own command squad was with them, Bylan holding the banner high for all to see and the rest eager for battle.

The geography could hardly be better, a long straight approach with no cover and no way to be outflanked, the defender's dream. Yet Toran mused that the Chaos invader's numbers and fanaticism practically made such advantages null and void.

Still morale was high and the Captain could hear Novak boasting, "We gave them a drubbing and no mistake!"

Persion however was not so jubilant and said, "Don't get cocky; the real battle hasn't begun yet."

Novak replied, "Have you not been paying attention, the horde has been coming straight at us for hours. Right up the centre like dumb practice servitors, typically brutal and stupid."

Persion countered, "Don't mistake brutality for stupidity, the enemy merely sends us his most expendable cultists: he's counting our guns with the lives of his men."

Bylan protested naively, "+But we've slain Chaos Marines+"

"Not enough" muttered Jediah, "Not nearly enough"

"He's right" said Furion, "Those were sloppy and disorganised, the filth that lost discipline and charged mindlessly forward, soon they will come in numbers and the real fight will begin."

Toran interrupted to say, "Not soon... Now" as he saw another heaving mass of flesh racing towards them. A tidal wave of rags, skin and hate that filled the processional from one side to another, stretching back as far as the eye could see.

There must have been thousands of cultists racing up the route, a long column of mutated heretics fired by the insanity of Chaos. Yet the true danger walked amongst them, for towering over the horde was the unmistakeable bulk of scores of Khorne Berserkers.

In the very heart of the horde ran a colossal monster in brass armour whom carried a massive double headed axe that dripped blood. His armour was covered in runes to the Blood God and all around him the cultists chanted, "Thessus, Thessus, Thessus!"

Before Toran could even order a response the Thunderfire canon was firing, sending shells sailing over the line to detonate among the horde. Razor sharp fragments of metal cut down scores of mutants with each blast but even that barely made a dent in the multitudes barrelling towards them.

Toran realised the cultist's insane courage was being fired by a number of demagogues and apostates urging them forward with vile imprecations to the Ruinous Powers. The captain opened his vox and cried, "Nimodes take out the leaders!"

Instantly a hail of silenced rounds fell upon the horde and the demagogues were punched off their feet by the deadly accurate fire. Yet it seemed Thessus had indeed been studying the defenders, for at the rear of the horde arose a most unpleasant surprise.

On plumes of fire rose a dozen Chaos Raptors, jetted upwards seeking perches among the gantries, attacking the scouts directly. Talon like daggers plunged into soft flesh and as young bodies fell screaming from on high as Toran yelled, "Raise your aim brothers!"

A hail of deadly accurate shots rose from the ground to intercept the Raptors and a trio of armoured corpses fell to the volley. Unfortunately there was no time for a second strike for the horde was inexorably closing; the scouts would have to face the Raptors alone.

Toran saw the Khorne Berserkers coming towards him and realised they could not be stopped by mere firepower, once the they hit the line the supporting fire would slacken and the defenders would be overrun. Toran calculated his options in a flash and realised the only chance was for his small group to meet the Chaos Marines first, delay the coming charge long enough for the rest of the defenders to mow them down.

The odds were against success, the probability of the members of the counter attack surviving practically nil but still he drew his sword and cried, "Furion, Lorath both squads follow me, let them see your fury and let your name be the last thing the Traitors hear!"

As one the two squads drew close combat weapons and leapt over the barricades, Bylan gripped the banner in both hands to fly it proudly and he was the first to cry "+The Primarch's Own!+"

The cry was taken up by every Storm Herald on the field and as Toran met the first Berserker with the edge of his sword all he could hear was his Marines shouting, "The Primarch's Own! The Primarch's Own!"


	29. Chapter 29

**Noctem Oritur: Chapter 29**

In the Grand Processional war waged, the onslaught of the invaders met by the faith and fury of the defenders, a line of desperate men pouring on all the fire they could into the endless horde. Yet at the very heart of the fight a far more personal battle was being waged, a tiny island of heroes pressing forwards even as the roaring chainaxes of the Traitors fell upon them.

To the fore the assault squad pressed forwards, seven space marines locking shields and forming a wedge shape that let them stand against the oncoming Berserkers even as their axes fell over and over. The floor was a disgusting carpet of dismembered corpses and boots were slipping in blood or crunching the ribcages of the dead into kindling but no warrior dared to take his eyes off the enemy to look down. Still the weight and force of the enemy was breath taking, every step forwards a feat worthy of a saga in itself but today just another unnoticed struggle surpassed by the next and the next.

In the heart of the wedge Captain Toran was pushing forwards, pressing his chest into the back of the warrior before him to add his weight against the force urging them back. His world had shrunk down to a heaving grinding mass, his vision limited to the warriors by his side and the Traitors before him, the screaming of axes and clash of blades on ceramite the only sounds he could hear.

The Traitors were surrounding them, roaring in hate as they hacked and slashed at the loyalists, they had the advantage of numbers but they fought as individuals and as long as the shield wall held firm they could not break through. Toran knew his men had to work as a team to survive and he drew in a breath to yell, "Heave!"

Instantly every Storm Herald smashed forwards, creating a solid wall of force, the Khorne Berserkers were hurled back a single pace by the impact and that was all the loyalists needed. Fourteen arms shot out bearing chainswords and power weapons to plunge into brazen armour, spilling blood and guts. Any other foe would have died instantly but these were Transhumans so only two fell into the clutches of death.

The Storm Heralds reformed their wall but now a single pace further into the horde, the Berserkers charged again but Toran kept yelling over and over, "Heave! Heave! Heave!" and each time they hurled the Traitors back and stepped forwards. They were making slow but steady progress into the face of the enemy but the Traitors were learning fast, the Butcher's Nails robbing them of reason but not instinct, they locked ranks and charged as one to meet the shield wall with a solid wall of their own bodies.

The Storm Herald's progress halted as the two forces impacted together and all that was left was the blurring fury of hacking, cleaving madness as the enmity of the ages was played out. Chain swords met chainaxes and boarding shields were used as battering rams while the mad carnage swept over all.

Time slowed for Toran as his armour flooded his bloodstream with combat stimms and his implanted organs spiked him with hyper-adrenaline, he could see weapons rising and falling with glacial slowness and all that was left was to meet the foe with equal fury. He saw an axe arc high to take the head from Brother Manara of Lorath's who was standing in the shield wall, without conscious thought Toran swung his blade high and took off the arm of the Traitor. The Berserker didn't seem to notice and tried to fight on with one hand but his frenzy was short lived as Toran stabbed again and tore out the filthy heretic's throat.

There was no triumph though for another Berserker screamed as he swung hard and ripped Manara's head from his shoulders, the corpse of the noble brother fell and a gap was torn in the shield wall. Yet before the Berserkers could surge through Furion stepped up, snatching the Boarding shield from dead fingers and slamming it back into place, the murderer pressed forward but Furion smashed back with remarkable strength and avenged the fallen with a single thrust of a Chain sword that tore out both his opponent's hearts.

To the Captain's left Jediah was backing up a pair of assault marines, taking every opportunity to strike back and his Fractal edged short sword blurred with lightning speed as he plunged it into eye sockets and under helms. Meanwhile Persion stood to the right, his burning Friction axe meeting chainaxes and shattering them into splinters before cleaving through ceramite armour with effortless ease.

Behind him Toran could hear Lorath's twin lightning claws slashing and carving and knew the Sergeant was holding the rearguard single handed, preventing the Berserkers from surging around behind them and smashing their formation apart from the inside. The loyalists were inundated by Transhuman killers on every side yet impossibly they were holding the line and stalling the entire horde even as the distant defensive line unleashed a hurricane of firepower.

Then Toran spied a Berserker swinging a weapon towards him, this was no chainaxe but a wicked flail with a spiked ball head that vomited red smoke that uncomfortably resembled misty blood. Before the Captain could react the flail descended on his helm and he knew death had come but as the flail came within one inch from his skull there was an explosion of white light and Toran was surrounded by a shimmering wall of energy.

The Captain stood bewildered for a heartbeat and then he realised that he had never before witnessed the effects of an Iron Halo's energy field from the inside, the sacred artefact had saved his life but also blinded him for a split second. The shimmer faded and sight returned revealing the Berserker swinging the flail around again but this time aiming for Bylan, the young Marine tried to evade but the crush gripped him firmly and the flail smashed into his side in an explosion of dark smoke.

Toran roared in anger and tried to swing his blade at the Traitor but Jediah beat him to it, lashing out to stab the foe in the neck with his Fractal blade. The Berserker fell to the ground but Bylan still swayed from his injuries and the banner swung drunkenly in his grip, looking like it was about to fall.

Toran could not take his eyes off the fight yet still roared, "Bylan!"

The standard bearer was swaying back and forth like a drunk but he ground out between gritted teeth, "+I will not…+"

"Bylan speak to me" called Toran as he fended off an axe blow.

The young marine drew in a harsh breath and snarled through the pain, "+I will not yield!+" as he grabbed the haft with both hands to thrust the banner high above the crushing press of bodies.

Toran seized the moment to rally his men shouting, "Brothers the banner yet stands, the spirit of the Primarch is with us!"

The Storm Heralds closed ranks around the injured standard bearer but with the banner flying above them they redoubled their efforts roaring, "Primarch's Own!"

Under the shadow of the banner the Storm Heralds fought like the mythic legends of proto-history, each one of them scything down foes as if they were Achilles or Leonidas themselves. Had the Masters of the Chapter been there to see their epic feats then each one of them would have been instantly promoted to the First Company. Against all odds they were forcing their way forwards once more, forcing the Berserkers back inch by blood soaked inch, the heroes' strength was unearthly, their courage dauntless and their determination hard as granite but despite all that there were still some things they could not fight.

Leaping into the fray came a figure in dark armour, with two organic horns on his helm and a snarling daemon face on his chest plate, he wielded two serrated swords that bled a dark aura and he was instantly recognisable as an aspiring Champion of Khorne. The Traitor leapt at the line and slashed out with his twin blades, boarding shields shattering at the slightest touch and in one strike Brothers Apito and Quare of Lorath's squad died with their flesh burning.

A great hole was torn in the shield wall and the Aspiring Champion stepped forwards roaring, "Blood for the Blood God, Skulls for the Skull Throne!" Toran moved to intercept but before he could strike Novak leapt between him and the aspiring warrior, as Company Champion it was Novak's sacred duty to face the strongest enemies in his Captain's place and it was a chance for glory that the reckless warrior would not have passed up regardless.

The following duel lasted for five seconds but it felt like five days as the pair of Champions exchanged blows faster than the eye could see, thrusts and parries blurring between them in a dazzling display of skill. Novak caught blows on his combat shield, the energy field dissipating the cursed power of the swords as he counter attacked with deadly skill, the flurry of slashes and stabs making it look like he wielded three swords not one.

The Aspiring Champion met every strike with an efficient parry even as he counter attacked with rare skill for a follower of Khorne, it seemed the pair were equal in skill and grace and the slightest thing could tip the balance. Then Novak swung high for an overhead strike, the Traitor crossed his blades above his head in an X shape to catch the sword and scissor it apart yet he had not counted on the Master crafted nature of the weapon. In one mighty strike Novak's sword shattered the serrated blades and carried on to carve the Traitor's helm in two, leaving him a headless statue that toppled slowly backwards to smash onto the gore soaked floor.

As warrior fell the crush of bodies parted and Toran saw that at last Thessus himself had come to finish off the Storm Heralds, he was a monster of an Astartes with a deadly aura shimmering around him. Toran recalculated the odds instantly, they were facing a Chaos Warlord who alone would have tested the small group of loyalists yet he was still surrounded by Khorne Berserkers who pressed forwards eager to claim skulls. The Captain realised that this was a fight they could not win alone, they were out of options and about to die in defeat. It was time to play his last card so Toran opened his vox and cried, "Brother Ajax… NOW!"

Behind the Warlord a stretch of plain nondescript wall suddenly exploded outwards, cunningly concealed explosive bolts detonating in a wide circle to create a blizzard of stone shards that flew outwards to gouge armour plates and smash horns off helms. The Berserkers were buffeted and shaken by the force of the detonation pausing in their attacks for a heartbeat as they turned to see what was happening behind them.

They saw that a large dark cavity had been exposed in the wall, right in the heart of the Traitorous force and from within strode forth a mighty war machine. It walked on mechanical legs, had crushing pistons for one hand and the other was made up from spinning barrels while its smooth chest plates covered a reinforced sarcophagus that they knew held the remaining scraps of a warrior held one inch from death for five millennium.

The Berserkers were given a moment's pause by the sight, shocked out of their bloodlust for a single heartbeat by the unexpected emergence of a Contemptor Dreadnought amongst them and Ajax boomed, "DEATH HAS COME FOR YOU TRAITORS!"


	30. Chapter 30

**Noctem Oritur: Chapter 30**

The battle paused for an instant as the Berserkers struggled to understand how the situation had changed, then before anyone could move Ajax's assault canon fired. The barrel blurring and a tongue of fire erupting as he unleashed his fury, at point blank range the tsunami of rounds flew forth and at such proximity not one missed. The first Berserker hit was sawed in half and he fell to the ground in two gory chunks of flesh.

Ajax panned his canon around left and right and Berserkers were blown off their feet with their chest plates ruptured and helms shattered, blood fountained up and fell back as rain as body after body was ripped asunder. Ajax poured on the fire, blasting foes apart as he roared, "JUDGEMENT IS UPON YOU!" The rate of fire was stupendous, the accuracy inhuman and in the first five seconds Ajax alone had destroyed a squad's worth of Traitors. The Berserkers were being decimated and not one of them had managed to land a return blow, not a single one.

Any other foe would have been broken by the carnage but for all their treachery the Chaos Marines had lost none of their prowess and as one they rose up to launch a counter attack. A mass of screaming figures in brazen armour ran forwards with chain axes roaring, Ajax unleashed one final burst that blew another Berserker into steaming offal then they were upon him. The heaving mass of Berserkers surrounded the Dreadnought on all sides, hacking at thick armour plates and trying to work their way into vulnerable joint mechanisms, Ajax responded by becoming a rampaging juggernaut. He slammed warriors aside; he kicked and battered foes down and anything his mighty fist hit was obliterated by the surging energy field.

One Berserker leapt high and snagged the Dreadnought's assault canon, dragging himself up hand over hand trying to reach the small sensor dome perched above the sarcophagus. Ajax snarled in fury and reached over to seize the Berserker by the helm, the whole body dangling from as his hand as he engulfed the Traitor's head. The Chaos Marine kicked and struggled to break free but Ajax boomed, "BURN HERETIC" as he triggered the flamer built into his palm. The helm held firm for two whole seconds before giving way, flesh, bone and brains burning to ash then Ajax dropped the corpse with a charred lump for a head.

The Khorne Berserkers were lost in frenzy and piled in upon the Dreadnought, throwing themselves on his limbs to weigh Ajax down, he kicked and thrashed in response but they kept piling in trying to drown him in numbers. One Berserker wedged a Krak grenade into a knee joint and the explosive detonated to crack piston and gears, Ajax fell to one knee and the Berserkers hammered their axes against his armour chipping and gouging his plates. One of the Berserkers drew back his arm and roared, "I shall dig out your skull from your tomb and it shall crown my banner" then he slammed his weapon down upon the Dreadnought's sarcophagus. The blow actually broke open a tiny crack in the life support coffin and amniotic fluid began to dribble out running down the Contemptor's front.

The Chaos Marines roared in triumph and the one who had struck the blow pulled back his arm for another strike but Ajax wasn't prepared to give him the time to do so. As the Heretics piled on Ajax unlocking the restraints on his waist gimbal and began to spin his torso in a way no organic soldier could replicate. Armoured bodies were flung away by the unexpected move and crashed to the ground creating a space for Ajax to surge back to his feet. The Traitor who had cracked the Dreadnought's sarcophagus tried to rise but Ajax smashed the barrel of his canon down upon the Traitor's helm and he was knocked to the floor again by the impact. The Berserker fell upon his back and the axe dropped from his fingers, he looked up at the Dreadnought towering over him and screamed, "Blood for the…"

Ajax didn't bother to look down as he said, "JUST DIE" and then he stepped on the warrior, brazen armour crumpling under the weight of the war machine, offering no more resistance than tin foil. Ajax squashed the Traitor under his metal foot as a man would a bug and there was a fountain of blood as the body disintegrated into a gory puddle that splashed up the Dreadnought's legs.

While Ajax had been slaughtering the Berserkers Toran and his squads had been pressing forwards to close on Thessus and his elite guard, the Chaos Lord had left his men to the attention of the Dreadnought for he knew that killing the Captain would shatter the defender's spirit. In a frenzy of hacking stabbing blades the two groups slammed into each other, energised weapons parting ceramite and chain axes tearing armour apart in return. In the initial clash three Berserkers fell to the charge but in return Brother Jullien of the assault squad fell with his guts pilling out to the gore streaked floor.

Toran found himself in the heart of the melee, lashing out left and right with the Sword of Thiel to rip and gouge at brazen forms. There was no sense of the wider battle and all he could do was push forwards and carve apart the next foe and the next. Then he heard a bellow and saw the nightmarish form of Thessus, Toran raised the Sword of Thiel into a guard position and launched himself at the Chaos Warlord. Thessus met him with swift blows of a great axe that shimmered with infernal power and within three exchanges Toran knew he faced one of the most dangerous foes he had ever met.

The Traitor's strength was unearthly, his every blow numbing Toran's arm but he was not slow for it, if anything he seemed to be getting faster with every strike. Toran was immediately on the defensive, falling back and parrying with no thought of counter attacking, not even able to risk glancing behind to see if he was backing into another axe. A series of hammering blows came at his midriff and Toran desperately fended them off with a clumsy series of parries but as his sword lowered Thessus swung the haft of his axe upwards to smash right into the Captain's face. Toran's vision dissolved into static as his auto senses were destroyed and for one moment he was helpless but he was not alone.

Toran heard Novak crying, "Glory and Honour!" as he leapt past his Captain, then there was the sound of a brutal series of exchanges as Toran wrestled his helm off. Instantly the clamour of battle filled his ears and the rotting stink of spilled blood and guts assailed his enhanced nose, laced with the stench of dead men's bowels voiding. Toran blinked and saw Novak with his shining sword becoming a blur of deadly blows, the Chaos Warlord swung in return but somehow the Champion angled himself just right for the weapon to miss. Thessus swung another mighty blow that should have taken off Novak's head but the Champion ducked then spun on one foot to end up behind his foe, his sword lashed out and carved deeply into the Warlord's back to rip a tear in the posterior armour and blood flowed freely down to stain the ground.

Thessus roared in agony but the pain only fuelled his rage and his retaliation was fierce indeed, he swung around in one titanic strike that hurtled around his body with the inevitability of an avalanche. Novak actually managed to get his combat shield up in time to catch the blow and the energy field flared as it dissipated the axe's infernal power, yet for all the arcane sciences at play physics could not be ignored.

Novak took the full kinetic force and the power of it lifted him off his feet, flinging him back into the melee to knock over a pair of struggling warriors. Toran saw his Champion was out of action but wasted no time in worry, he seized his chance and launched a strike at Thessus' back yet the Warlord was not caught unawares. Even as the Sword of Thiel descended the Chaos worshipper twisted with remarkable speed and deflected the blow off his axe blade, he twisted the weapon and once more Toran was on the defensive. The Captain fell back once more desperately parrying and trying to find a way to win through, to change the rules as he had done so many times before but there was nothing. The Warlord was beyond him in every way imaginable, with sickening dread Toran realised he just didn't have what it took to win this fight.

It was in that moment that Toran made his great mistake, stepping backwards his boot crunched onto a dead man's skull and the blood soaked bone slipped underneath him. It was one of those insane moments that could only happen in the white heat of combat but it was enough to condemn the Captain. Toran fell to the ground and it was all he could do to keep his grip on his sword, he looked up and saw Thessus standing over him glorying in the coming kill. The Traitor raised his axe high and roared, "Witness the power of Khorne!" Toran looked up sternly, determined to stare death in the face but then suddenly everything paused.

Thessus froze still with his axe still raised but he was no longer looking at the Captain, instead his vision was fixed upon a length of Adamantium which had suddenly exploded out of his chest. Toran peered around the warlord and saw that behind his foe was Brother Bylan, holding the banner pole like a spear to plunge it through the tear in Thessus' rear armour and out the other side. Thessus roared in denial at dying to such a lowly opponent but Bylan lifted one hand from the haft to draw his combat blade shouting ,"+You shall not harm the Captain!+" With one blow the standard bearer struck Thessus' head from his shoulders and the Warlord slid off the banner to fall down utterly dead.

Toran heard the horde gasp in horror, their supposedly invincible warlord was dead and the loyalist's vengeance was at hand. Their courage broke and as one thousands of mutant cultists fled, their faith in the Chaos Gods proving shallow and brittle. The Captain staggered to his feet and saw that only the Khorne Berserkers had not run but the last of them was being hacked apart between the blades of his squad and Ajax's might.

All Toran wanted to do was collapse but he refused to show weakness in front of his men, even so he was gasping for air with his transhuman physiology labouring to keep up with the punishing struggle he had just been through. Bylan looked as bad as the Captain felt for he was clinging to the banner pole like a crutch as blood poured down his side. Yet despite all that the horde was in retreat and against all odds the loyalists had won, even now the distant serfs were cheering in victory as the Space Marines raised their fists triumphantly in praise to the Emperor and the Primarch.

"+Is that it?+" asked Bylan breathlessly, "+Is it over?+"

"Not yet" said Toran wearily drawing himself upright, "Vorshaan is still out there, this won't be over until he is dead."


	31. Chapter 31

**Noctem Oritur: Chapter 31**

Over the Fortress Monastery the Emperor's Storm raged, gale force winds battering the few remaining buildings as thunder and lightning smote down over and over again. The rain driven horizontally with the power of a pressure hose and loose debris was picked up and scattered everywhere to create deadly shrapnel. Everyone Loyalist and Traitor was driven underground by the typhoon, fleeing men and mutants running straight into each other and resuming their enmity deep under the earth.

Yet on the Eastern docks a different kind of activity was taking place, the crashing and trashing boats left by the invaders being restocked and loaded by lines of mutants doubled over in the face of the storm. The boats along the outer perimeter of the harbour were being battered into pieces but those closest to the docks were sheltered from the worst of the storm. The heretics themselves however were battered down by the wind or blown off boarding ramps into the thrashing waters but it was not like they had much choice in the matter.

Standing over them were Astartes in lurid purple armour, festooned with sickeningly lewd images and fresh skins, they stood unmoving in the storm buffeted but not swayed by its fury. Under the direction of the Traitor Marines the cultists loaded looted supplies and weapons, crates of heavy weapons, rare parts and even whole suits of power armour taken from the Loyalist's armouries. It was not just mundane items either for the cultists were taking aboard works of art, statues, sacred relics, ceremonial wines and basically anything the Traitors thought could provide a moment's amusement.

In one warehouse the Warlord Jubila was impatiently watching the proceedings from a high window, he itched to be off this vile island but with the Emperor's Storm upon them his forces were going nowhere. He had a squad of his Emperor's Children with him who were whiling away the time by torturing captured mortals but the Warlord had swiftly grown bored of the prisoner's predictable bleating and wails.

The sight of the perversions unleashed would have shattered the sanity of most mortals but to Jubila it was dull and routine, he lacked many of his most interesting toys and the basic tools he had to hand were functional and uninspiring. Jubila growled in frustration, drawing a serrated knife down his cheeks to alleviate the boredom but it wasn't working, to a follower of the Prince of Excess such trifles were blasé and unworthy, he craved new and bold experiences.

Jubila had even tried standing in the face of the storm but found it too impersonal and lacking in savour, he could not see what the Loyalists found so interesting in it, unless someone was suffering there was really no point. Jubila he could feel Slaanesh's attention slipping away with every moment and his favour with his patron waning, he needed to be off this world, he needed to find fresh delights to recapture his God's interest.

Jubila was snapped from his melancholy as the warehouse door slammed open letting in the thunderous wind and a pair of Astartes, it was the Sorcerer Beta and his associate Gamma. Instantly his squad abandoned their tortures and surrounded the pair with bolters and sonic weapons raised menacingly but the intruders merely ignored the crude threats and glared at the Warlord himself.

Jubila grinned, glad for a diversion at last, he walked down a set of stairs from the high windows and greeted them with arms wide open, "Welcome, welcome I am glad to see you… what fresh delights have you brought to amuse us?"

Gamma snarled in response and spat, "Don't give us that, we are here to get you back into the fight!"

Jubila threw back his head and laughed scornfully at that as his men laugh sycophantically with him, he said, "Ha! What could possibly stir me to such foolishness?"

Beta stepped forwards and declared, "Vorshaan is making his final push, we are about to crush the Storm Heralds at last, victory is within our grasp!"

"Really?" said Jubila grinning, "That is not what I have observed, what I have seen is that this whole invasion has been one endless cavalcade of errors. Since the moment we set foot on this Warp forsaken island we have been bled dry, Vorshaan had every advantage conceivable and he threw it all away with a sloppy strike."

Beta rebuked him saying, "We have made great progress, we knew the lapdogs would fight tenaciously but now they are worn down and they have nothing left that can hurt us."

Jubila sneered, "Really, tell that to Killorn or Yuikia, oh wait you can't… they are dead, killed by these supposedly broken lapdogs. Not even your friend Alpha could break them."

Gamma started in surprise as he said, "How do you know about that?"

Jubila chuckled as he said, "You snakes try to hold the gifts of the Warp at arm's length but when you learn to embrace the Dark Powers then there is much you can learn from the whispers of the Neverborn. I have to admit I was impressed by your deceitfulness to get us past the defences but ever since then this war has been one endless disaster."

Beta replied, "Perhaps you haven't heard, Thessus is leading the charge into the heart of the Fortress, he will break the lapdogs."

Jubila snorted in return, "Perhaps you haven't heard but Thessus is dead."

"What?!" barked Beta.

Jubila rocked back and forth on his heels, relishing the sensation of knowing more than the Sorcerer as he said, "Oh yes the Butcher God's pet has fallen and I have no intention of joining him, these Storm Heralds are proving far too tenacious for my liking. As soon as the storm front clears we are blasting a route out of here and taking our spoils back to the stars."

Gamma barked angrily, "You flee the fight; you abandon Vorshaan at the moment of victory!"

"Don't pretend you care anything for that inept fool, he has let his obsessions overcome him" Jubila replied scornfully, "Don't get me wrong I enjoy obsession but he has overextended and will only get himself killed."

Beta replied slyly, "Then there is opportunity for you, a chance to claim victory for your patron alone, you could draw much favour from the Prince of Excess."

That statement drew a bubbling laugh from all Jubila's men and as the pair of Alpha Legionnaires looked on bewildered the Warlord shook with mirth saying, "You actually think Slaanesh cares for mundane matters of victory and defeat?"

He wiped a tear from his eye as he declared, "No, no... such tawdry baubles are beneath our Lord, all that matters to Slaanesh is that the parade of sensations never ends. That the dance of pleasure and pain continues eternally and I intend to experience every last morsel of it from here to eternity."

Gamma snarled angrily, "I will kill you if you try to leave!"

Jubila's amusement was radiating off him as he said, "I'd like to see you try whelp, don't think you can take me in a fight, I am leaving and nothing you can say or do will stop me. However I will gift you with one last piece of advice before I go: get off this island, depart while you still can and leave Vorshaan to the mess he has made before he drags you down too."

With that Jubila turned on his heel and swept out of the warehouse, his squad following with weapons raised as they marched into the storm, already looking for some new amusements to distract them. The pair were left behind with only the mewling prisoners for company but they ignored the noise as they watched the Warlord depart.

Gamma made to follow them but was brought up short by Beta who held him back with one palm raised, Gamma snorted, "You cannot mean to let him live!"

Beta said thoughtfully, "It's hard to argue with him when he is right."

Gamma's jaw dropped under his helm and he said, "You agree with him?!"

Beta mused, "He is right about one thing, Vorshaan has made a complete mess of this invasion, we practically handed him victory and he utterly wasted it."

Gamma protested, "But the lapdogs are vulnerable now, we could crush them with one last effort."

Beta shook his head, "Destroying the Storm Heralds was only ever a secondary objective to the Alpha Legion, they have already served their purpose by drawing Vorshaan out. He won't abandon this island without the loyalist's gene-seed reserve… leaving him overextended and exposed."

Beta made his decision and said firmly, "That's it then, I am moving up the timetable, how many of the squads are sworn to us?"

Gamma replied sullenly, "The cur was always too generous with the lives of his men and too miserly with the spoils of war, half of the Night Lord's Claws are eagerly awaiting our word to abandon him."

"Only half?" asked Beta, "Do the rest really believe in the Dusk Prince?"

"Warp no" Gamma stated, "It is more that they would refuse to believe us if we told them that space is cold and stars are hot."

Beta sighed, "Well they can die with Vorshaan when the lapdogs find him, what of the Raptor cult?"

Gamma spat, "They despise Vorshaan to a man, they are all with us."

"Excellent" declared Beta, "Send the word to pull out and fall back to our position, the loyalists will finish off anyone left behind. Meanwhile I will go arrange transport, if needs be we can take the boats by force but I suspect Jubila can be persuaded to share them for the right price."

Unfortunately Gamma wasn't yet willing to give up the war and said, "But I haven't killed that runt with the shiny sword!"

Beta shook his head and said, "Don't be childish, you can kill him another day, beside the failsafe has been deployed and time is on our side."

Gamma barked, "At least let me order the rest of the cultists to attack, they still have the numbers to ensure heavy casualties before they die."

"If you must" sighed Beta, "Don't be long though, I intend to be off this island the second the storm moves on."

Gamma finally relented and declared, "Well at least we will at last be rid of Vorshaan, I don't think I could have stomached him much longer before I cut off his head."

Beta paused at that and said slowly, "It would be better not to leave such matters to chance, the Dusk prince has a knack of avoiding the loyalist's attempts to kill him and we need to be certain he does not interfere with the next stage of the plan. Contact the other operatives and tell them the Alpha Legion no longer requires Vorshaan's services… or his head."

Now Gamma finally sounded pleased and saluted with a fist over his heart saying, "Hydra Dominatus."


	32. Chapter 32

**Noctem Oritur: Chapter 32**

Over the length of the Fortress Monastery the Emperor's Storm beat down, smiting everything that stood above the ground, lightning flashed and massive waves crashed high onto the island drowning any who had not sought shelter regardless of allegiance. The tempests typically waxed and waned in strength but this was by far the worst storm in living memory and even had the Fortress not been ruins it would have been battered by the hurricane.

As it were every living being who could move retreated into the deepest parts of the broken structure, fleeing into the depths where the tempests could not reach them but there they found a different and even deadlier threat awaiting them. In the darkened corridors men and mutants fell upon each other, frantically hacking and with blades and bayonets as the last acts of the drama played out.

Down the length of the deep corridors raced the surviving Storm Heralds, battling their way past tangled knots of enemies, filled with the knowledge that the end was in sight. At their head ran Captain Toran who was leading his men unerringly to their destination and the final confrontation, his men were battered and bloodied but they still kept pace, even Bylan who was struggling to keep up with his injuries.

As the group ran Persion drew level with the Captain and opened a private vox link, even running full pace his voice was calm and measured as he said, "I wish Ajax was with us."

Toran had lost his helm so was forced to sub-vocalise into a vox bead as he said, "Wishing is for fools and dreamers, Ajax would slow us down and besides he needed urgent repairs, Hevostan would not let him move until he fixed the honoured ancient's Sarcophagus."

Persion commented, "I don't know who was more outraged at being left behind, Ajax or Nimodes."

Toran replied, "Nimodes has his own mission."

Persion said, "I know but only two score scouts survived the fight with the Raptors, do you really think they can pull off your plan?"

Toran answered, "Trust in Nimodes, he will not fail us."

Persion pressed the matter saying, "But what of Vorshaan?"

Toran replied calmly, "There is only one place he will be headed, if we can get to gene-seed repository first we can cut him off and crush him at last."

Persion glanced at his Captain and said suspiciously, "How can you be so certain he is headed there?"

"I just know" replied Toran evasively.

"That filthy infiltrator told you didn't he?" said Persion in disbelief, "Have you considered he might have been lying, that this might be a trap?"

Toran said, "Despite everything he showed remorse at the end, I don't know if he was more Alpha or Halis in that moment but either way his words were sincere."

Persion was stunned and said, "You can't believe anything the Traitors say, we should..."

Toran cut him off firmly saying, "The decision is mine and I have decided our course, say nothing to the others for we cannot afford doubt and mistrust now of all times."

That put a stop to the conversation, Toran was a Captain and to an Astartes orders were sacrosanct, so the group raced onwards taking corners and intersections with great haste as they pressed onto their objective. As they ran they passed battling knots of serfs and mutants who were fighting furiously in their desperation to survive, the group intervened where necessary to force passage but Toran refused to let them scatter and led them past as many fights as they joined, all that mattered now was killing the Traitor's leader.

The Marines pressed onwards determined to end the Dusk Prince but still Novak said, "Damnation, I thought we broke the foe so why are they still attacking?"

Furion answered, "We broke one army but this horde has many disparate warbands, the war will not end until they are all dead."

Persion spoke up to say, "They are pressing forwards on all fronts and our serfs can't fight them everywhere at once, we pulled too many men off the line to save the Forges, it's a numbers game now and they have more."

Jediah interjected, "So we won one battle but in doing so lost the war?"

Furion barked, "Enough of that talk, the Emperor has given us strength and weapons enough to break his enemies, we will not rest until this foe is obliterated utterly!"

Toran was glad his dauntless Sergeant was with them and as they approached another corner he agreed, "Trust in Nimodes my brothers, he goes to summon the Emperor's judgement itself upon the foe, he will not fail us."

So quickly were the group moving that as they barrelled round the next corner they were shocked to see another group coming down the corridor right at them from the other direction, these ones were in midnight clad and bore grizzly trophies from their waists. Their macabre garb declared to all that it was the Night Lords and there must have been over sixty of them running straight into the loyalists in the most unexpected of places.

Catching an Astartes off-guard was practically impossible, before their minds even had time to process their surprise weapons were already in clenched hands and bolts were flying as the two foes charged at each other. Furion claimed first blood as he blasted away with his special Vengeance rounds and shattered a pair of charging Night Lord's chests into splinters but the rest pressed forwards regardless.

Hacking screaming bodies slammed into each other and the fight descended into a brutal brawl of stabbing frenzy amid the crush of armoured bodies. Lorath's squad instantly locked shields and stepped forwards as one but the Night Lords hit them in an avalanche of fury and in the carnage Brother Mika went down with a serrated knife buried in one eye lens.

Mylos' squad drew blades and leapt into battle, stabbing and slashing like the most viscous of gangers as they cut and decapitated Traitors but the fight did not go entirely their way for Brother Avead was caught by a pair of Night Lords who grappled him down so a third could stab him in the hearts. Meanwhile Priyar's squad fought back to back, each brother covering his partner as they fended off murderous killers in midnight hues, their defiance was remarkable to see but the odds against them were great.

Elsewhere Zeax's devastators were faring poorly, their heavy weapons unsuited for such close quarters and in the madness Brothers Kugh and Faed were borne down along with their doughty Grav-Canons. Zeax avenged them swiftly with wide swings of his Thunderhammer that blasted armoured forms into gory kindling as each blow unleashed a burst of arcing lightning.

In the heart of the melee Toran was fighting with his command squad, their blades and axes reaping a fearful tally as they fought their way forwards. Novak was to his side fighting with sublime skill while the others fought with brutal strength and determination, even Bylan was making his presence felt, using the Banner haft as a polearm to bludgeon foes and leave them vulnerable to the energised blades of his kin.

Toran confronted a pair of Night Lords and effortlessly drove the Sword of Thiel into the hearts of the first yet while he was distracted the other leapt forwards and tackled him off to one side, trying to wedge a knife into the gap under the Captain's arm. Toran met the heretic with an elbow to the face that knocked his helm back but the Traitor held on tightly, too close for the Captain to effectively wield the longblade of his sword.

Toran grimaced and let go one hand from his weapon then flattened his fingers into a blunt wedge, he twisted around then with all his strength drove his hand down under the Traitor's mouth grille to punch him in the throat. The weaker fibre bundles between the ceramite plates gave way and in one hit the Night Lord's larynx was crushed, totally collapsing his airway.

The Chaos Marine was fully enhanced and theoretically his third lung should have kept him alive for several minutes but he made the mistake of letting a hand stray to his throat and that was all Toran needed to lever his sword's hilt up and awkwardly stab the blade down into the Traitor's hip, carving off a leg. The Night Lord fell down silently as he slowly died and Toran looked about to see that he had been cut off from his squad and was momentarily alone.

It was in this moment that Toran spied a foe he knew all too well, a dark shape with two curving swords and a pair of mutated wings behind him, the Captain instantly launched himself at the Dusk Prince from the side crying, "Face me Traitor!"

Vorshaan effortlessly caught Toran's strike on one blade without even bothering to look around before glancing to see who was attacking him, he growled in anger and shouted, "You! Why aren't you dead yet?"

Toran roared in anger and swung hard to break the Dusk Prince's guard but Vorshaan moved like lightning and deflected the blow before counter attacking with a blitz of thrusts and slashes. Toran was aghast at the skill displayed, he had fought Vorshaan three times now and each time had been staggered by the filth's speed and grace but this was something else. The Dusk Prince was moving now like liquid lightning, his onslaught utterly devastating and even with his enhanced mind Toran struggled to follow the moves, he was shocked to realise that up till now Vorshaan had been holding back.

Yet the Captain refused to be cowed by the display, he ducked a blurring strike and felt a shudder as the blade tore the banner pole from his back but when he rose it was Toran on the attack, the Captain abandoned all thought of strategy or reason, focussing his entire being on the moment and the movement of his sword. He let his hatred surge to fore energising his body and brought everything he had into the fight, all his ardour, all his pain and his contempt he channelled it all into fuelling his zeal.

Toran had never been so swift or so deadly as he was right now and his frenzy of attacks battered at Vorshaan's guard forcing him back a step. Yet despite all that the Dusk Prince still met and deflected every blow with sublime skill, equalling his rival in every particular, the pair were stalemated and the slightest thing could tip the balance either way.

As Toran raised his blade for a furious lunge there was an tremendous roar and the whole Fortress shook as the situation changed, a ferocious wind suddenly raced down the corridor bringing with it the taste of salt air and the tang of lightning. The wind blasted the struggling combatants, dragging their limbs off balance and turning their precise bows into clumsy bashes that deflected off ceramite armour.

The fighting paused for a moment and Toran took satisfaction in knowing that this was a sign that Nimodes had completed his mission. That his remaining scouts had raced to the most distant parts of the Fortress opening every blast door, wave baffle and storm shutter they could find.

It seemed that the whole world was consumed by the shrieking of the wind and the depths themselves trembled as for the first time in history the tempests entered the Fortress Monastery, filling it with the raw power of a hurricane.

Into the confusion Toran bellowed loudly for all to hear, "Hold Fast Brothers, the Emperor sends his judgement on the wings of the Storm!"


	33. Chapter 33

**Noctem Oritur: Chapter 33**

The Emperor's Storm was raging in the heart of the Fortress Monastery, rampaging down deep corridors and into vaults that had never been violated in thousands of years of service. The gales swept along the passages in a howling torrent, tearing at fixtures and battering secure hatches with scouring force. The shrieking of the wind acted as herald of its coming everywhere and it resonated down the honeycomb of tunnels under the Fortress, filling it with a banshee wail.

Across the length of the island men and mutants looked up in stunned confusion, their enmity put on hold as they tried to understand what was happening. The native Lujanites reacted first, recognising what was to come from a lifetime of experience and they moved with instinctive speed. From the highest peak to the lowest depths men turned their backs on their foes and flung themselves into shelter, huddling under heavy machines, clinging to piles of girders and cowering in whatever holes they could find. The mutants were slower to realise their peril, they stood around confused or tried to follow their fleeing opponents, thinking to stab them in the back but they were too late to recognise the danger they were in. The wind roared down the passages and hit the exposed crowds of mutants with the force of a freight train, bowling them over effortlessly and scattering them before its might.

Bodies were picked up by the unstoppable gales and slammed with bone shattering force against walls and ceilings, then they were dragged off and hurled into another wall and another, each impact snapping limbs and cracking spines. Piles of thrashing bodies built up in corners and since all of them had been openly carrying ritual knives and jagged tools they ended up impaling themselves on their comrades' weapons, dying in the most obscene parody of war. Many of the limp corpses were then dragged along rough surfaces by the wind, crashing into more cowering mutants who had escaped the initial frenzy; they were knocked out of their shelter and immediately joined the calamity.

Many of the mutants tried to escape the natural disaster, clinging to walls and burrowing under debris but they did not understand what they were doing they did not have time to process what was happening. Many times a cultist would think he had found shelter only for the wind to devilishly turn and twist then come in from a new direction, tearing open rude protections and ripping flailing bodies out into the open. Only a true native Lujanite could have recognised genuine safety at a glance, only someone with a lifetime of experience with the storm could have known how to protect oneself from being torn out of hiding and rendered limb from limb by flying debris.

Along the coastline the seas rose up and cascaded into the broken structures, flooding whole regions thought previously secure and sweeping razor sharp debris along with it. The outer districts were almost exclusively the realm of the invaders now and they were stunned to see walls of water barrelling down upon them, smashing them from their feet and drowning them in droves. The storm plunged deeply within the Fortress, finding all and ripping apart any who had not properly secured themselves, any who did not immediately seek protection. True hundreds of serfs died anyway in the calamity but in the first five minutes ten thousand cultists were killed and the death toll of the invaders was rising with every second.

In the very heart of the Fortress the storm encountered another kind of battle, this one of transhuman against transhuman, locked in a furious slaughter that would not be denied. These warriors refused to be cowed by something as mundane as the environment and secure in their power armour they fought on but just because they could stand in the storm did not mean they could ignore it. The force of the wind dragged on weapon arms, slowing strikes and pulling them off target, while the weight of it skewed their balance and disrupted their guard stances. For the Traitors it was most disconcerting, these were the warriors who had fought across nightmare Daemon worlds and battled on the shores of acid seas, they had killed men under burning suns and scrabbled to live in vortexes of raw insanity.

Yet for all that they had not experienced the raw elemental power of the storm and even the most gifted transhumans would need a few seconds to adjust, time the Loyalists had no intention of giving them.

As one the Storm Heralds flung themselves at the Traitors, riding the winds with a cry of righteous vengeance on their lips as they sought to end this once and for all. Unlike the heretics the loyalists knew this storm intimately, they knew how to let it carry them forwards and how to weave in its currents, they knew the exact moments to pause and could see the perfect time to strike. It was the most microscopic of differences, barely detectable to the eyes of a mortal man but to the Transhuman Space Marines the imbalance between the two sides was blatantly obvious and it was all that was needed to tip the battle entirely one way.

With the hurricane empowering them the Storm Heralds carved into the Chaos Marines, their blows had the power of tornadoes behind them and their speed was magnified by the potency of the hurricane. They reaped the Traitors down like chaff while return blows skittered harmlessly off ceramite plates, knives being turned aside at the last moment by the dragging of the gale and scores of Night Lords were ripped asunder by the invigorated loyalists. It was almost pathetic to see how easily the Traitors went down, these were the warriors who had burned worlds, they had proudly slaughtered whole armies and reduced fortresses to rubble but now they were dying as easily as mere mortals. The Chaos Marines were carved apart in a frenzy of righteous bloodletting and for the first time in their fiendishly long lives they were helpless to resist but none of them had it so bad as Vorshaan.

The Dusk Prince had been caught by the first gust to blow down the corridor and it had snapped his mutated wings out behind him, filling the membranes like sail clothes. Vorshaan was snatched up by his wings and hurled hard against the nearest wall, cracking granite and making his ceramite armour creak and groan. Before he could move the wind shifted and he was flung up towards the ceiling, helpless as a leaf as he slammed face first into the roof then back down to the floor before being dragged along the ground in a tangle of wings and armour. He tried to dig in and hold on but his own mutations worked against him and he could not resist as he was hurled into a wall and held there by the press of the wind like an insect under glass.

On the other side of junction Toran could see the Dusk Prince's struggle and knew there would only be one opportunity to strike but he had to wait to pick his moment. His own cloak billowed around him, dragging him off balance but he knew this tempest intimately and he stood true amid the gale. His enhanced hearing could hear Vorshaan screaming into his vox, calling for reinforcements and his lackeys Beta and Gamma to come to his aid but clearly nobody was responding. Toran felt the wind shift and knew his moment had come, he pressed forwards and felt the currents of air hesitate for an instant then he was running straight at his hated foe. Vorshaan looked up and saw the Captain coming, his wings drooped for an instant in the stillness and he cried, "What is this?!"

Toran felt the wind stir at his back and he leapt into the air even as a fresh gale thundered in from behind him, filling his cloak and driving him forwards with inexorable force. He raised his sword and felt the hurricane lending power to his arm as he cried, "This is the Emperor's Storm!"

He flew at the pinned Dusk Prince like an avenging angel and hit the cur full on, driving his sword deeply within the corrupted chest plate as Toran roared into his opponent's face, "We are His wrath!"

Vorshaan's eyes widened in disbelief and shock at the impact then he spat black blood down his chin as the reality of his situation hit him. He struggled feebly but his strength was dissipating by the second and he could barely lift his arms let alone fight back, the blade had rammed straight into his chest, destroying his primary heart and stabbing out the other side to fix him to the wall. Toran twisted the blade to saw the wound open and Vorshaan shrieked in denial as his lifeblood poured out.

Toran drove the blade sideways trying to carve out Vorshaan's other heart but before he could finish the job a new weight crashed into him, a pair of Night Lord bodyguards pushing him away. Toran fell to one side and his sword ripped out of the Dusk Prince's chest; he met the pair head on as the storm billowed round them and stole the words from their lips. With the howling surrounding them the pair came at Toran in a flurry of stabs but their aim was off and the Captain let the blows score across his plates harmlessly. In return he struck off the head of the first with a lateral cross that sprayed arterial blood over the walls, the other came at him in a rush but Toran twisted and pushed driving his opponent forwards to smack headfirst into a wall. Before the heretic could recover Toran slashed his sword across the Traitor's back, easily penetrating the ceramite to sever his spine, then he let the filth collapse into a crippled heap before stamping down and crushing his skull.

Toran wasted not a moment but spun around to finish off Vorshaan but he was aghast to see the Dusk Prince was gone, where the Arch-Traitor had been was only a puddle of blood and the rent, ragged remnants of two wings. The cur must have severed his own wings to escape the storm's effects then dragged himself away to die in some forgotten corner.

Toran roared in denial and frustrated rage, he spun about to see where the Traitor could have gone but all he saw were his men hacking down the last of the Night Lords leaving heaps of corpses everywhere. His mind instantly calculated the numbers and saw that a half-dozen Night Lords were unaccounted for; they must have fled with their lord.

Still the Captain had twenty eight brothers still with him, more than enough to finish the fight.

Toran called over the howling of the wind, "Did anyone see where the bastard fled to?"

Novak called from a corner, "There a trail of blood over here a first year aspirant could follow."

"Good" declared Toran raising his blade, "Let's get after him, Vorshaan shall not escape justice this time!"


	34. Chapter 34

**Noctem Oritur: Chapter34**

In the deepest darkest part of the Fortress Monastery a line of bedraggled figures moved, they trudged wearily along with the stench of defeat hanging over them. Four of them were the last remnants of the Night Lord's proud army, plodding one step after another with no real direction in mind. They had been broken and shattered in the fight but they remained Astartes and it was not in their nature to lay down and die so onwards they marched.

At their head plodded a rent and bleeding individual, the crippled Chaos Lord Vorshaan making his escape even as his remaining heart pumped blood from wounds in his chest and the stumps of his once proud wings. His enhanced blood was not clotting as it should and he could feel weakness creeping up his limbs and a cold sensation closing around his heart. Yet despite all that had happened he still walked with his head held high and his swords gripped tightly in his hands, the anger and rage radiating off him as he brooded on his defeat.

Inwardly Vorshaan was seething as he replayed the entire invasion over and over in his mind; he cursed his lackeys for their incompetence and his allies for their perfidy. It was clear to him that the bungling of the other Warlords had cost him this war, their waywardness and conflicting agendas had wasted his forces. He gnashed his teeth at the failures of all around him and told himself he should have killed the other warlords personally and taken their armies for himself, the fact that he had been forced to flee the Imperial's vengeance was a humiliation he would never forget.

The small group pressed on further into the depths, seeking places so submerged that even the accursed storm could not reach them, the dank tunnels were filled with sea water that lapped around their waists and smeared grunge over their proud colours but that was all to the best. The imperial lapdogs were undoubtedly pursuing them and they no longer had the numbers to win, all they could do was press on and continue to evade retribution, revenge could come later.

As Vorshaan limped ever downwards he could hear whispers in the back of his mind, neverborn offering to heal his flesh and promising limitless power in exchange for a foothold in reality. These voices had been with Vorshaan for ten thousand years and he had always ignored them, he was master of his own fate and refused to be enslaved to the lies of Daemons but now the seductions were louder than ever.

They thundered in his ears offering to make his vengeance real, to fill him with the power of the Warp and make him mighty enough to annihilate all who stood against him. The Daemons regurgitated visions of the future into his mind, showing him as a king of a Legion surrounded by adoring minions and with the corpses of those who had abandoned him strung out as trophies above his throne.

Yet it was this last thought that kept Vorshaan from succumbing, he could see that he had been betrayed by his own followers and was determined to exact revenge, not with Daemonic gifts and infernal powers but with his own two hands. He could see now that his defeat was entirely the fault of Beta and Gamma, the pair had conspired against him and at the very moment of his triumph had absconded with the bulk of his armies, denying him the reinforcements he needed to finally crush the lapdogs. In fact he was wondering if the pair had subverted the other Warlords too and turned this entire invasion into a farce to undermine him.

Vorshaan was pulled out of his festering recriminations by a sudden shift in the air around him, he held up one arm with a sword still in hand and the squad paused behind him with weapons raised in a circle. He stretched his senses to the utmost trying to discern what had changed but only darkness and the swish of waves answered him, he turned about to inspect his men and that was when it hit him. He had fled the battle with four Night Lords but now there were only three standing behind him.

Silently he signalled to the others to query what had happened to their lost kin but they signed back that they had seen nothing. Vorshaan bared his teeth in anger, it was possible that the other member of their group had split off trying to find his own escape but that was poor thinking and in defiance of his orders.

He had explained that staying together was their best chance; well it would be if he should need to sacrifice their worthless lives to ensure his own escape. He mused on what could have happened, it was almost certainly not the loyalists, they would have come barrelling straight at them shouting ridiculous threats and oaths to their corpse God, no this was something else.

Vorshaan snarled and broke his silence to say, "Something is hunting us, something that should not be here, perhaps something trapped here in the vaults until the flooding broke the wards. We need to kill it first before it picks us off one by one, spread out and start looking for our lost kin or whatever has taken him."

Vorshaan's squad spread out, confident in their ability to match any predator of the darkness they encountered as they sectioned and cleared the area yet they found nothing. The Dusk Prince sent them out on a wider sweep looking into desecrated halls and kitchen messes filled with rotting corpses but again they found only more nothing. They moved forwards into the darkness, their footsteps echoing as they looked for pursuers and traps but there was only emptiness and the minutes stretched out eternally.

Vorshaan felt a prickle running down his back, he was not capable of feeling fear but the apprehension was intense, he was badly wounded and had barely a fraction of his potency: a genuine fight now could finish him. Of course he was willing to spend the lives of his men without thought if it got him to freedom but wasting their limited strength was pointless if it did not draw out their hunter.

Reluctantly the Dusk Prince recalled his Marines and determined to press forwards before they were caught but he grimaced in anger as the squad came back short, three he had sent out but now there were only two returning. Vorshaan gulped as he realised the scale of the threat and addressed his pair of remaining warriors saying, "We need to find a defensive position, this monster can't take us all at once."

Swiftly he led them into a shadowed storeroom, the floor had a thin layer of sloshing water over it but the space was secure and had only a single entrance: it would have to do. "Secure this room" ordered Vorshaan and the pair ran forwards as he inspected the entrance to ensure there was nothing behind them, he heard the others sweeping for traps and lurking enemies but by the sounds of it they were finding only empty crates.

Vorshaan was feeling light headed now; even his gene-forged body struggling to keep up with the loss of blood and he found himself wondering what manner of monster could pick off Space Marines so effortlessly and silently. There were few things in the galaxy with such skill and power and there was not one amongst that list he would care to face on his best day, let alone in his wounded state. So focussed was Vorshaan on his situation that he was caught unawares by a sudden spike of hot agony spearing up into his spine from behind.

The Dusk Prince roared in anger as his legs failed under him and he dropped his swords as he collapsed onto the wet floor with blood gushing out of his body. He looked up expecting to see some vile monster but all he saw were his two guards standing over him, one of them held an inactive chainsword and the other a serrated knife, dripping with his blood. Vorshaan stared at them and realised there had never been a monster, it was betrayal upon betrayal that had brought him low.

He gazed up at the Chaos Marines and gasped, "You… who are you?"

"I am surprised you do not know" said the one with a chainsword in a light tone of voice, "You did guess my name earlier when you were talking to Alpha."

"Delta" said Vorshaan as his eyes widened in shock then had addressed the other saying, "Which would make you?"

"Epsilon" growled the second in a rough gravely rasp.

"So… Beta lied about only one soldier surviving the training" gasped Vorshaan as the truth sank in, "What of the others who came with us?"

Epsilon growled in response, "They are in no position to be helping anybody."

Vorshaan's heart sank as he saw how thoroughly he had been played then he blurted, "You don't get to kill me, that was never the plan, Gamma is the one sent to kill me."

"Yes" replied Delta smoothly, "He does seem the type doesn't he?"

Epsilon continued, "That is why we put him up front where we knew you would inevitably fixate upon him, all the while we were running around behind your back, subverting your troops to our cause."

Vorshaan tried to move but his wounds were too severe, even his enhanced physique had its limits, he sank back and gasped, "You should rethink this, I reward those who show initiative, you could both rise far under my banner and I can offer you far more than that snake Beta."

"Shhh" said Delta, "You think we don't know you would kill us the instant we dropped our guard?"

"Beside" commented Epsilon, "The Alpha Legion has already taken everything of worth from you."

"No!" barked Vorshaan, "I won't die like this, not like this, not to lackeys like you!"

"Hush" said Delta pulling his chainsword back and activating the spinning blades, "Try to die with a little dignity." Then he swept his arm across and in one clean sweep struck the head from the Dusk Prince, ending his reign of terror forevermore.

The pair stood over the corpse and looked upon the remains of a warlord who had come so close to achieving his goal yet they did not revel in their deed, for to them it was just another step along their convoluted path. Delta bent over and picked up Vorshaan's fallen swords saying, "Beta will want proof he is dead but leave the head where the lapdogs will find it; that should deter any further pursuit."

Epsilon nodded and scooped up the pale head without even bothering to examine it and said, "Are we really going to leave some of the Throne worshippers alive?"

"They are irrelevant" replied Delta nonchalantly.

"What of the Long War?" protested Epsilon, "Don't you hate them too?"

"Of course I do" said Delta "I want them all dead as much as you do but their destruction was never the true goal, we are the Alpha Legion, we take the long view."

Epsilon nodded and declared, "Hydra Dominatus."

"For the Emperor" replied Delta in a mocking tone before the pair spilt up and made their escape.


	35. Chapter 35

**Noctem Oritur: Chapter 35**

In high orbit over Lujan II the swarms of hostile vessels began to stir, lighting their engines and shifting position in a swirling ballet of motion. The transports were still taking on the last shuttles bringing up cultists from the landmasses of the world but their shipmasters were not willing to be left behind when the rest fled so anyone who could not make it would be cruelly abandoned. Not that anyone would mourn them, half the cultist armies were rabid devotees of Chaos and the rest were merely there for the spoils, comradeship wasn't even a factor in their decisions.

At the very head of the flotilla was the monstrous Shadow of the Emperor, its mottled hide absorbing starlight and making its name all too appropriate. The other ships followed its path back into the stars like pilot fish around an oceanic predator and its gargantuan weapons provided cover for the rest, not that they needed it. Orbital space was teeming with wreckage and the corpses of Imperial crewmen, nothing remained to challenge the fleet as they put the world to their sterns and boosted out towards the distant Warp interface point.

In the amphitheatre like bridge of the Shadow the cooling bodies of the mutant crew were being dragged from their command pits and being piled up in great mounds of rotting flesh. They had put up a brief resistance to the change in command but against Astartes they had stood no chance whatsoever, of course many of them would have happily served whoever was on the command dais but the new owners of the ship were taking no chances. They ruthlessly executed the crew and brought in new replacements from their ownservants lest agents of the Dusk Prince be left among them.

Across the length of the bridge Gamma was stomping back and forth dragging out twitching corpses and decapitating any who seemed to be moving, the resentment steamed off him and even other Chaos Marines gave him a wide berth as he took out his rage on the crew. Meanwhile on the command dais was Beta who was directing the new crewmen to manoeuvre the ship out of orbit while simultaneously directing his forces sweeping the lower decks.

Standing behind him was the Warlord Jubila whose armour was covered in fresh skins that still oozed blood while the flesh on his head had been peeled back and pinned with nails to reveal the reinforced bone of his skull. He was lounging against the great marble throne with a grin on his face and was idly carving his initials into the stone work with the spikes on his clenched gauntlets as he observed the proceedings.

He watched Gamma stomping about and leaned over to his Sorcerer companion to remark, "Seems angry doesn't he?"

Beta turned about and sauntered over with his tall staff clicking on the deck plates as he said, "Nobody likes retreating but he will get over it, I will find him some blood soaked battlefield once we are out of here to keep him busy."

"About that" queried Jubila, "How are we going to survive Warp Transit with this sorry lot?"

"Do not concern yourself" replied Beta, "My forces have secured the vital areas of the ship, Vorshaan left plenty of agents and saboteurs behind but we will root them out before anything untoward happen."

"Well you better hurry" said Jubila, "The Neverborn whisper to me of Warp wakes disturbing their revelries, the lapdog's fleet barrels back to this system as we speak, they will be here in mere days."

"Sooner than we anticipated" said Beta, "It is of no concern, we will be within the embrace of the immaterium long before they can reach this system and then there shall be changes made around here."

Jubila cocked his head to one side and said "Not happy with how Vorshaan ran things?"

Beta sounded resentful as he said, "Four decades of bowing and scraping to that bloated egotist, it was all I could do to keep from blasting his entrails all over the deck some days, it's amazing how much toadying I had to do."

"Well then maybe your Legion will give you a medal" quipped Jubila insolently before taunting, "Just a shame you lost your real lord to get this far."

Beta however didn't seem concerned by the barb and replied, "Alpha was never our lord, useful and respected yes but flawed. He got too invested in his cover and was compromised by too many years standing among the Throne Worshippers, it happens to the best of us sometimes. In all likelihood the Harrowmaster would have ordered us to liquidate him regardless of how this all turned out."

Jubila asked, "You don't mourn him at then, you don't appreciate the work he did for you?"

Beta shook his head, "Any one of us would be willing to do the same, misdirection and manipulation are the keys to our success."

"Why is it every time I talk to you I getting the feeling I should be conducting a thorough purge of my followers?" remarked Jubila with a laugh, "But what of the Storm Heralds?"

Beta replied scornfully, "Those nobodies, they were irrelevant from the start and while destroying them would have been a delightful bonus it was not essential to the plan."

Jubila raised one eyebrow and said, "But won't your masters be displeased that you failed to secure the gene-seed?"

Beta chuckled and said, "That was Vorshaan's plan not ours, our own stockpiles are vastly superior in quality and quantity to those shoddy knock-offs of Guilliman's bloodline."

"You are going to make me ask it out right aren't you?" said Jubila frowning in exasperation, "Very well if i have to say it... just what was it that your lot were after this whole time?"

Beta cocked his head and sounded genuinely surprised as he remarked, "I thought that was obvious, what's the one thing Vorshaan possessed that no other Chaos Lord had?" Jubila frowned not following the Sorcerer's logic until he rapped his staff sharply on the deck plates and nodded off over the bridge. Jubila's jaw dropped and he looked around the vast amphitheatre before saying, "Oh of course, I should have realised: a Glorianna class Battleship of your very own."

Beta nodded, "The Alpha Legion knew Vorshaan was finally getting close to finishing his restorations but he proved surprisingly canny at rooting out our operatives and agents, he was annoyingly paranoid about the security around his prize. That's why we approached him openly and offered to help him with his little feud, we knew his obsession with the lapdogs was the one thing that could draw him away long enough for us to make our move, the rest was simply a matter of egging him on and putting our people in the right places."

Jubila nodded in understand but then he eyed the Sorcerer suspiciously and said, "You're not telling me this to show off, you have an ulterior motive for explaining everything."

Beta was pleased by the intelligence displayed and said, "You have proved cunning and adaptable, qualities the Legion holds in high regards, if we joined forces we could achieve much."

Jubila smirked and said, "Let you snakes sneak around behind my back, no I think I would be safer trading barbs with Abaddon than standing alongside you, my fleet is waiting just behind this planet's moon to collect my army I intend to transfer over with my spoils at the first opportunity."

Beta was disappointed to hear that but also slightly impressed that the other Warlord had his own surprises ready, true he could still kill Jubila either here or during the transfer but there was no telling what further surprises his rival had in store. Beta decided it was not worth picking another fight right now and said, "What will you do afterwards?"

Jubila rubbed a spiked gauntlet on his chin drawing blood and said, "Raiding in this sector has become tedious and repetitive, I seek new conquests further afield. I hear the worlds of the Paradism arc are ripe for plucking, the Neverborn whisper the people there have the most beautiful skins, I would like to make a cloak from it."

Beta nodded respectfully and said, "That may be for the best, the Legion is not done yet with this sector, it would be prudent for us to keep out of each other's way."

Jubila smiled and said, "I look forward to seeing what schemes you are concocting, I just wish I could be there to see the lapdog's faces when they see what's left of their home."

Beta nodded and said, "Even in victory the damage was great, the Storm Heralds will take decades to rebuild from this, giving us space to manoeuvre for the coming war. Abaddon sends words he is mustering for a fresh invasion of Imperial space and we intend to make use of the opportunities it presents."

"In that case I shall take my leave" said Jubila, "Try not to get killed before we meet again"

Then the Chaos Warlord turned his back on the Sorcerer and sauntered off the bridge heading back to his own forces. Beta watched him go and was glad that this had ended without bloodshed; perhaps there would even be a use for Jubila in future campaigns but that was an issue for another day. He grabbed a passing cultist draped in twisted snake iconography and said, "Prepare the ship for Warp Translation, and tell them to hurry installing our Navigators, we shall plot a course for Legion outpost Kappa-23-Tango immediately."

The crewman nodded and hurried to obey as Gamma stomped over, seemingly finished with his bloodletting as he said, "Is it true then, a Thirteenth Black Crusade is coming?"

"Yes" replied Beta, "The Eye of Terror is far from here but it will draw Imperial forces away leaving us with space to make our next moves, we need to be ready."

"The slaughter shall be great" declared Gamma, "The Legion shall at last achieve primacy and show everybody our superiority."

"Careful Gamma" chided the Sorcerer, "Remember that the true victory lies with the strike that no one sees coming. Now tell me did Delta and Epsilon make it back?"

Gamma answered, "They were on the last Storm Eagle off the planet, they are leading our forces to secure the Engineerium as we speak."

Beta clapped his hands and declared, "Good, go summon them and tell them to hurry up about it, the lapdogs are distressingly close to returning home and we need to be gone before they get here. Then I have two jobs for you, first get that tawdry throne off the dais, it looks absurd giving orders with that thing looming over everybody."

Gamma nodded and asked, "And the other thing?"

Beta stood proudly and announced, "You shall signal the Harrowmaster, inform him that our splinter has completed its mission and the Alpha Legion can add another Glorianna class Battleship to its fleet roster. The Shadow shall be doing great things in our service, the Imperium thinks it has won a great victory here but we shall teach them that in the long view the Hydra always wins."


	36. Chapter 36

**Noctem Oritur: Chapter 36**

In the darkness of night swarms of lights moved over the island home of the Storm Heralds, the bright contrails of descending rocket engines mixed with ascending flood lights as squadrons of Thunderhawks and Stormravens brought wave after wave of reinforcements down to the Fortress Monastery. Whole Companies of Space Marines were disgorging from their transports amid cleared sections of rubble and spreading out; they swept the island from end to end seeking any surviving enemies before plunging underground and continuing their hunt in the sunken depths.

Behind the warriors came teams of menials with heavy lifting gear and mono-tasked servitors, they did not wait for their lords to move on before they began their work. They set to the piles of broken masonry and smashed buildings that covered the Fortress, salvaging anything that could be saved and sweeping away what could not be.

From among the devastation emerged piles and piles of bodies in various states of decay, the remains of serfs were given warrior's cremations on vast pyres that burned into the night, a truly singular honour for mere men. The bodies of cultists and Traitors were stripped naked and put on servitor load lifters and driven to the shores to be thrown unceremoniously into the ocean for the fish to feed on. Meanwhile their effects were sealed in leaden caskets, lest their taint spread even in death. In one case the still living form of a Chaos Marine was unearthed, pinned under a mountain of rubble, a Chaplain was hastily called over who did not hesitate to execute the Traitor with a swift shot from his bolt pistol.

Standing observing this all from atop a pile of rubble was Chapter Master Gorgall, his form painted a dark picture as the firelight danced over his armour plate and his expression was grim as he surveyed the work. The Battlebarge Thunderlord had arrived in orbit only a few hours earlier and he had led the first wave down to the planet to secure the Fortress Monastery or what was left of it anyway.

Standing with him in bone white arnour was Chief Apothecary Lessall, who looked practically furious at the sight before him and Ninth Captain Phalros who looked only slightly less irate though for very different reasons. The last member of the party was Chaplain Wrethan who was stood awkwardly in a medical exoskeleton, he really should not be walking yet but he had refused to lie in a bed for a second longer and had harangued the sawbones with the wrath of the Emperor himself until they finally relented.

Standing at the bottom of the pile of rubble was Acting-Captain Toran, awaiting his Lord's summons to be debriefed on recent events, though whether he was here for praise or condemnation for his earlier report he could not say. His small band had continued fighting in the depths non-stop until the reinforcements had arrived but he was pleased to say not one more brother had fallen since the bulk of the Traitors had fled. Victory belonged to the Storm Heralds yet the Fortress Monastery was nought but a ruined mess and Toran honestly couldn't say if he was to be awarded the Star of Terra or be exiled in disgrace.

From where he was standing he could hear Chapter Master Gorgall saying, "Our home shall be made secure then we shall move on to wipe the remnants of the heretics from the other landmasses. Chief Librarian Echeb is directing the sweep of orbital space and when the rest of the Chapter arrives we shall cleanse this planet of the filth entirely."

Captain Phalros asked, "Is there any trace of the vector the Traitors fled in?"

"Sadly none" replied Gorgall, "Our Navigators and Astropaths can find no Warp wake to follow and we can only assume they used sorcery to evade detection."

Lessall spoke up to growl, "Someone has to pay for what occurred here, how could this have been allowed to happen?"

"Let us ask directly" replied Gorgall waving Toran to approach.

The Acting-Captain strode up the loose scree effortlessly, masking his apprehension with a stoic demeanour as he saluted his Masters and waited their judgement. Lessall was the first to speak saying, "Well you certainly have a lot to answer for."

Phalros looked startled and said, "Watch your tone, his victory saved the Fortress Monastery."

Lessall glared angrily at the rebuke and said, "If this is what he calls victory I would hate to see what he calls defeat."

Toran refused to be brow beaten and said, "The enemy came at us with overwhelming strength and nothing less than our full fury would have broken them."

"Indeed" agreed Phalros, "Victory carried a high price but defeat would have been far greater."

Lessall barked in outrage, "Third Company is gone, Captain Dassa is dead, Ka Lau was irritated and the orbital docks shattered… someone has be held accountable!"

Phalros replied testily, "You can hardly blame the lad for the actions of the enemy."

"Well what about everything since then" growled Lessall, "Blowing up half the island, obliterating the Rock of Heroes, abusing relics and honourable vehicles, allowing the Emperor's Storm into our hearths and homes, not to mention demolishing the Chapter Master's tower!"

That last one elicited a wince from Gorgall and Toran realised how irate the Chapter Master was but ever the diplomat the Lord said, "His actions are indeed a matter that requires evaluation, when we left he was but a Sergeant and now he stands before us in a Captain's garb, with squads sworn to his service."

Wrethan spoke up for the first time in defence of his protégé saying, "That was my decision, I was incapacitated and we needed leadership, my actions were entirely in keeping with the protocols and traditions of the Chapter."

Lessall did not seem mollified and growled, "And what about this business with the Sword of Thiel, was that in keeping with tradition?"

Wrethan fell silent, unable to justify such deeds and Toran realised how much trouble he was in, he spoke up to explain, "That was merely a symbolic gesture to inspire the men, just a show to reinforce their courage, it carries no weight or authority"

Gorgall eyed him suspiciously and said, "Yes it was very... theatrical but it is not something we can ignore, the Codex Astartes clearly warns of the danger of officers generating cults of personality about themselves. This 'Primarch's Own' business is in direct defiance of our traditions and to some it looks like you are creating a cult sworn only to yourself."

"Such was not my intention" said Toran bowing his head in humility, "If you judge that I have committed the sin of self-aggrandisement then I will accept whatever penance you deem appropriate."

"No one is saying that" said Gorgall consolingly, "But it does look bad, especially in conjunction with the revelation of a Traitor in our ranks."

Lessall interrupted to bark furiously, "You had a heretic standing by your side for four decades and did not see it!"

"No one saw it, there were no signs whatsoever" protested Phalros, "Halis Paur passed every test, every psychic probe even the Apothecarion's genetic screens found nothing suspicious."

Lessall looked furious at the subtle rebuke and glared angrily at Toran letting the Acting Captain know he had made an enemy in the Chief Apothecary. Gorgall overrode the bickering saying, "How many people know of this treason?"

Toran answered, "Only myself and my command squad… though I admit Sergeant Nimodes has been asking some very pointed questions, he suspects much."

"Tell him nothing" ordered Gorgall, "Speak to no one of this, if word spreads that we harboured a Traitor in our ranks it will shatter our brother's trust and faith not to mention be used as a weapon against us by the inquisition."

"That is our greatest concern" growled Lessall, "With our support structure shattered our ability to wage war is compromised, we will be vulnerable to enemies near and far for years to come."

Phalros argued in response, "The Forges are untouched and the Gene-seed remains unblemished, we can rebuild all that was lost, we shall rise again."

Gorgall declared, "In the meantime we must call upon the beneficence of Terra for support, we shall have to rely heavily on the good graces of our allies for the foreseeable future." Lessall scowled at that and Toran realised that the Chapter Master had just scored a major point in their ongoing struggle over the direction of the Chapter's future, it seemed that even the near destruction of all they held dear was secondary to politics.

"What of Vorshaan?" asked Phalros changing the subject.

"Confirmed dead" replied Toran, "We found his head separated from his body, it seems his own Astartes turned on him in defeat and finished the job for us."

Phalros asked "You are certain it is really him?"

"Beyond a shadow of a doubt" answeredToran, "The Dusk Prince is truly dead this time."

"Such is the fate of Traitors" declared Wrethan, "They sow the seeds of their own destruction with their lack of honour and fealty."

"So then, what are we to do with this one?" asked Lessall glaring at Toran, "His actions are most divisive, the Chapter will be split over how to treat him."

Phalros said, "Third Company is gone, it needs to be rebuilt."

"No, we must mourn our losses with due reverence and let tempers settle first" said Gorgall firmly then he addressed Toran saying, "For now I am officially approving your promotion to the permanent rank of Captain but you will not sit in the seat of the Third Company, if anyone questions this tell them I am taking you under my personal mentorship until I deem you fit."

Toran nodded as Gorgall continued, "You shall keep your scratch company together and the squads will be rebuilt to full strength, in time we shall add to your ranks and if you prove worthy we shall revisit this issue. But let me be absolutely clear on one thing, this business with the sword stops now and I never want to hear the words 'Primarch's Own' ever again."

Toran bowed in respect of the wise decision, it was a political compromise that offered both sides something, to some it looked like a promotion to others a punishment. It served to defuse the tensions around him but it also left him wallowing in a strange limbo in the command hierarchy.

Lessall scowled but said "If that is your decision I shall appoint one of my Apothecaries to serve with this ad hoc formation and ensure they are up to standard." Toran knew this was no concession but in fact Lessall's way of putting one of his own men into what he saw as a potential faction opposing his goals.

Gorgall let the matter go as he addressed the rest of the group saying, "Wrethan take command of rebuilding the Fortress Monastery while Phalros secures the rest of the planet. Lessall I am putting you in charge of the investigation into this Halis Paur, I do not want blame I want hard information on exactly how he bypassed our security and how to prevent it happening again. Now you are all dismissed."

The group bowed and made their departures, Toran moving off to find his squads and tell them the news but before he could leave Gorgall said, "Captain there is one other thing."

Toran paused and faced his Chapter Master as Gorgall waited until they were alone then the Lord said, "This is just between us for I will deny it if anyone else asks but you should know that I have been running simulations and in your stead, with the forces you had and the enemies ranged against you, I could not have led us to victory as you did."


	37. Chapter 37

**Noctem Oritur: Chapter 37**

Across the mounds of rubble Captain Toran made his way towards his distant Company, as he walked he saw teams of menials working to clear the devastation and salvage whatever they could. Outwardly he presented a stoic demeanour but inside the sight made him sorrowful, the damage he had wrought would take decades to rebuild and even then it would never be the same. Irreplaceable relics and thousands of years of history had been wiped out and would never be replaced, he told himself that the alternative would have been far worse and that the Traitors would have left nothing in their wake.

He almost believed it.

His path took him past the Librarian's tower, one of but a handful of surviving structures on the surface, he gave the arcane edifice a wide berth for even now he considered that the less he had to do with psykers the better. Eventually he crested a mound of rubble and before him he saw the survivors of his company spread out before him, they were milling around seemingly without purpose, somewhat lost now that reinforcements had taken over.

Toran could see the remaining scouts watching the recovery efforts as Nimodes droned on about proper search and rescue doctrines, even now he would not let any opportunity pass to lecture someone. Over to the other side of the group Ajax loomed over everybody, his armour plates were torn and rent with shattered gears visible in his legs, he was dirty and battered but still looked like he could wade through a sea of foes.

Working on his mechanisms were teams of tech adepts , blind to all else as their servo arms held plasma welding torchs high over their heads to repair a chink in the life-support sarcophagus. They were muttering constant litanies of blessing and appeasement which Ajax totally ignored as his engine rumbled.

Scattered around them were various knots of Battle-Brothers, the surviving twenty-eight Space Marines of Toran's Company, they were an odd bunch of reserve Company brothers, former pilots and tank drivers along with newly ascended novices and even a single surviving training instructor who was more augmetic than flesh. They were the misfits and disregarded leftovers of the Chapter but right now Toran would not have traded them for a Company of Terminators.

The group saw him approaching and leapt to meet him, cheering and calling out as he walked towards them, even Ajax ground around and raised his assault canon in salute. Toran was perplexed by the response until Novak shouted out loud, "Congratulations on being made a real Captain, Sir!" Toran was stunned to realise that somehow his men already knew about his promotion being made permanent, his eyes inevitably slid over to Persion for the communication specialist had a guilty look written all over his face. Toran glared accusingly at him and said over the cheering, "You were listening in on a command briefing?"

Persion looked down at his boots in shame and replied, "Well you can hardly blame me if go around leaving your vox link open for anybody to listen into."

Toran shook his head and couldn't stay angry at him as he said, "Well I can let that one pass, just don't let Chaplain Wrethan know you broke Comms protocols or you will be assigned to missions that will make you long for the blissful duties of the Reserves."

Toran addressed the whole group and said, "Everybody gather round!" Quickly the crowd huddled closer, everybody looking proud to be here even with their gouged plate and filthy iconography, time for ritual cleansing would come later but somehow the dirt lent a rough dignity to the group.

Toran looked at them all and was about to make some speech rewarding them for their efforts when he spied something on their plate. Even covered in dirt and grime each and every brother had a clear patch on their plate where a new icon had been inscribed, it was an Ultramarian 'U' bisected by a descending sword that looked suspiciously like the blade at his hip.

Toran raised an eyebrow and said, "What is that?"

Novak proudly answered, "A symbol of our new brotherhood sir!"

Bylan agreed as he practically shouted, "+Primarchs Own!+"

Toran clenched his jaw at the words, remembering what Chapter Master Gorgall had said on this matter, Persion who had been spying clearly recognised the source of his distress and hurriedly stepped in to say, "It's just a new campaign badge Captain, to commemorate what you did here."

Toran wasn't reassured, he recalled Gorgall's words about the dangers of cults of personality forming and realised he needed to nip this in the bud. He drew himself up to address everybody declaring formally, "Brothers you give me too much credit, this victory belongs to you not me, you are the Emperor's finest warriors and to lead you has been my honour. Never before have I witnessed such valour, I say each and every one of you deserves to be commemorated in the hall of heroes on Terra and yet we have much still do, we must march into the future alongside our Brothers."

This was greeted by confused stares so Toran elaborated, "We will always share the memory of what happened here and our brotherhood will be forever inviolate but we must never forget that we remain Storm Heralds. We shall carry the memory of the Primarch within us but we shall also know that we are merely a part of the Chapter and our first duty is to serve."

Furion seemed to understand what the Captain was driving at and said, "The Chapter Master can count on us to do whatever he requires!" Toran was glad his men understood and said, "For now rest and recover then we shall rebuild our ranks, new brothers will join us soon and I expect you to welcome them with honour: there shall be no old guards and new bloods amongst this Company."

Novak called, "And then what?"

Toran answered, "The Chapter Master shall have new missions for us soon enough, new chances for us to earn yet more glory but first we must celebrate this victory properly."

The Captain dropped his stern expression and smiled as he declared, "I have contacted the quartermasters on the Thunderlord and they are sending a shipment of ceremonial wines down for the heroic victors of this battle. You are all hereby granted six hours of free time to spend as you see fit, now you are all dismissed."

The company cheered and broke up as they hurried off to find the quartermasters, of course it was next to impossible for a Space Marine to get drunk but even the Astartes needed to celebrate occasionally. Their lives outside battle were filled with training drills and ritualised ceremonies; to have six hours of free time was the rarest of treasures and was reserved only for the greatest of feats and victories. As the Marines moved away the Sergeants and command squad gathered round their Captain and clapped Toran on the back, each speaking words of friendship and brotherhood with him.

Furion was the first to speak saying, "Congratulations Captain, a just reward for your great victory: I knew you had it in you."

Toran nodded in gratitude and said, "I couldn't have done it without you."

Priyar stepped up and said mirthfully, "Too right, remember that when the Librarians ask you to recount the events here."

Toran smirked and said, "I shall make sure your names are writ large in the annals of victory."

Lorath was standing next to him and said gruffly, "Forget history, just make sure to find us another fight sooner rather than later."

Zeax interrupted to say, "Worry not, war is never far away and with the Captain to lead us we shall prove our worth once more."

"Fine words" declared Toran, "I have no doubts that with you all by my side we shall overcome whatever the galaxy can throw at us."

Mylos confronted Toran and looked like he did not know how to feel, their feud may be over but their relationship was still untempered, so he said, "Lead well and I shall follow, but don't expect me to keep quiet if you err."

"That is all I ask" replied Toran, "Your frank tongue shall keep me honest."

Persion however clapped his new Captain on the shoulder and said, "Well look at this, who would ever have thought some wastrels from the Reserves would turn out to be the saviours of the Monastery?"

Toran laughed and said, "Did you ever doubt we were destined for greatness?"

Persion chuckled and said, "Anyone who saw us running through sewers would have disagreed."

Jediah joined in saying, "You do find the best scraps, the fighting here was fine indeed."

Toran jested, "Are you saying you finally had enough blood letting to satisfy you?"

Jediah actually smirked at that and replied, "Oh not enough not nearly enough."

Bylan pushed forwards, still holding the tattered and worn banner as he said, "+It has been the highest of honours to fight alongside you Master+"

Toran nodded and replied, "Keep that standard flying high and I shall be proud to have you with me."

Novak interrupted them and he declared with his typical impudence, "You do know you will have to put that banner down sooner or later."

"+They will have to prise it out of my cold dead hands+" replied Bylan with a grin.

Novak shook his head and said, "I have thought of a name for my sword."

Toran sighed knowing the glib Marine would never change and said, "What did you come up with?"

"Honour's Edge!" replied Novak with a grin.

"A fine name and it shall bring you much glory" said Toran as he moved forwards leaving his old squadmates to their comradery.

Nimodes pressed forwards through the throng and said, "I wanted to express my thanks, you led us through an impossible situation and brought us out alive."

Toran brushed off the compliment saying, "We couldn't have done it without you, your novices showed great ability and they shall become fine battle brothers one day."

Nimodes said, "You better get used to their faces, I am sure they will all be agitating to join your company, in the meantime I have to rebuild our training cadre; a new generation of aspirants will be urgently required to replace our losses."

Toran nodded but before he could say anything more the group's congratulations were interrupted, Ajax was stomping over looming over everyone before stating, "I HEARD YOUR SPEECH, IT IS GOOD TO KNOW THE FUTURE OF THE CHAPTER IS IN SOUND HANDS."

"Thank you Honoured Ancient" replied Toran, "What is next for you?"

"I MUST RETURN TO MY SLUMBER, THIS WAR HAS WEARIED ME GREATLY" replied the Dreadnought, "KNOW THAT I SHALL ALWAYS REMEMBER THESE EVENTS AND THERE IS NOW A BOND BETWEEN US, CALL UPON ME WHEN YOUR NEED IS DIRE AND NO MATTER WHAT I SHALL COME."

With that the Dreadnought turned and stomped away as the group watch on, as the venerable warrior disappeared Furion said, "Quite a thing knowing that he shall remember our names into eternity."

Priyar said, "Indeed and we must work hard to ensure our deeds are worthy of remembrance."

Persion said, "My only concern is that we shall be left here for years until the Chapter deems us ready to fight again."

Toran replied confidently, "Have no fear, I am confident that a new war shall find us soon enough and that we shall be ready to meet it."

The End


End file.
